"No; I haven't!" barked the gentleman in the case.
"Watson, the strait-jacket! He's growing violent."
"It was wholly my idea," proffered Mona.
"I thought Bobs was your special property. Why mark him down? It isn't bargain day."
"He's a fairly good bargain, though," pointed out her mother.
"Don't mind me if you want to discuss my good points," said Osterhout, lighting a cigarette and seating himself upon the window sill.
"I don't," said Mary Delia. "Let's consider him as a market proposition. His age is against him. You're forty, aren't you, Bobs?... He doesn't squirm, mother. That's a bad sign; shows he's reached the age where he doesn't care. Or is it a good sign, showing his self-control?"
"Dee, I'd beat you if I married you."
Her eyes lightened. "Would you? I believe you'd try." With a bound she was upon him. One arm crooked under his shoulder, the heel of the other fist was thrust under his chin. "Improved jit," she panted. "You'd have your work cut out."