girl at the piano, Ernestine, his sister-in-law, insisted that pearls
of truth fell from his lips, that she had seen him from the moment he
began to look, and that as she estimated the passage of time he had
been looking much longer than five minutes.

"Well, anyway," Forrest broke in on their babel, "Bert, the sweet
innocent, doesn't think you are up yet."

"We're not... to him," one of the dancers, a vivacious young Venus,
retorted. "Nor are we to you either. So run along, little boy. Run
along."

"Look here, Lute," Forrest began sternly. "Just because I am a
decrepit old man, and just because you are eighteen, just eighteen,
and happen to be my wife's sister, you needn't presume to put the high
and mighty over on me. Don't forget--and I state the fact,
disagreeable as it may be, for Rita's sake--don't forget that in the
past ten years I've paddled you more disgraceful times than you care
to dare me to enumerate.

"It is true, I am not so young as I used to was, but--" He felt the
biceps of his right arm and made as if to roll up the sleeve. "--But,
I'm not all in yet, and for two cents..."

"What?" the young woman challenged belligerently.

"For two cents," he muttered darkly. "For two cents... Besides, and it
grieves me to inform you, your cap is not on straight. Also, it is not
a very tasteful creation at best. I could make a far more becoming cap
with my toes, asleep, and... yes, seasick as well."