"Yop," said Warble, and made a face at her.

"How quaint," said Iva.

"Whoopee, Baby! Here we are," and Petticoat rescued his bride from the
middle of a crowd and yanked her toward his car.

The car was a museum piece, and as Warble caromed into its cushions she
felt that her lines had fallen in pleasant places.

That was the way Fate came to Warble. In big fat chunks, in slathers.
Unexpected, sudden, inescapable--that's Fate all over.

"I shall like Mr. Leathersham--I shall call him Goldie. They're all
nice and friendly--the men. But this town! Oh, my Heavens! This Jewel
Casket--this Treasure Table! I can't live through it! This Floating Island
of a Tipsy Charlotte!" Her husband nudged her. "You look like you had a
pain," he said; "Scared? I don't expect you to fit in at first. You have to
get eased into things. It's different from Pittsburgh. But you'll come to
like it--love is so free here, and the smartest people on earth."

She winked at him. "I love you for your misunderstanding. I'm just
dog-tired. And too many chocolates. Give me a rest, dear. I'm all in from
wear sheeriness."

She laid her feet in his lap and snuggled into the corner of the
pearl-colored upholstery.

She was ready for her new home, beautiful, celebrated Ptomaine Haul.
Petticoat told her that his mother had been living with him, but had fled