Sophie clasped her hands behind her long flannel nightgown. “The Surgeon General says smoking’s bad for your health. It’ll turn your lungs black and clog your arties.”

“Arteries, doofus,” Annabelle said, walking in from the doorway. “Sorry, Uncle Yank. I fell asleep and forgot to watch her. It won’t happen again.” She grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled, trying to drag her from the room.

“Stop,” Sophie whined. “I’m right and they all know it.”

“It doesn’t matter. They’re guys and guys smoke,” the third Musketeer chimed in, surprising them all by walking in from the kitchen. In her hand, Micki held the ashtray with all the men’s cigars.

“Hey, it took a long time for me to collect those without them noticing,” Sophie said.

“But they weren’t yours to take.” Annabelle walked around the room, handing each man a used cigar.

In all likelihood nobody got the right smoke and Yank cringed. “I think it’s time to call it a night.”

“If Lola had come, none of this would have happened,” Annabelle said. “She’d have kept Sophie busy in the kitchen.”

“If Lola had come, she’d be sprayin’ Lysol around all our heads,” Yank muttered.

“That’s not nice, Uncle Yank.” Micki smacked him on the shoulder with her little hand.

“See?” he said to his friends. “This is why I won’t git married ever. I already got three little women telling me what to do.”

Curly shook his head. “It’s more like with three little girls, you couldn’t find a woman in her right mind who would have you.”

“Except Lola. But Yank’s not bright enough to know a good thing when he’s got one,” Spencer said with a laugh.

“This from someone who’s already got one divorce under his belt.”