"Good morning, Sister Martha," says he, blowin' in to a late Sunday breakfast, all pinked up in the cheeks from a cold tub and a clean shave. "I trust that you begin the day with a deep conviction of sin?"
"Why, I—I suppose I do, Kyrle," says she, gettin' fussed. "That is, I try to."
"Good!" says Uncle Kyrle. "It is important that some one in this family should recognize that this is a sad and wicked world, with Virtue below par and Honest Worth going baggy at the knees. Zenobia here has no conviction of sin whatever. Mine is rather weak at times. So you, Martha, must do the piety for all of us. And please ring for the griddle cakes and sausage."
Then he winks at Zenobia, gives his grapefruit a sherry bath, and proceeds to tackle a hearty breakfast.
A few days after him and Zenobia got back from their runaway honeymoon trip he calls her to the front door. "There's a person out here who says he has a car for you," says he.
"Nonsense!" says Zenobia. "Why, I haven't ordered a car."
"The impudent rascal!" says Uncle Kyrle. "I'll send him off, then. The idea!"
"Oh, but isn't it a beauty?" says Zenobia, peekin' out. "Let's see what he says about it first."
So they go out to the curb, while Uncle Kyrle demands violent of the young chap in charge what he means by such an outrage. At which the party grins and shows the tag on the steerin' wheel.
"Why!" says Zenobia. "It has my name on it. Oh, Kyrle, you dear man! I've a notion to hug you."