«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.»

Lute tossed her blond head defiantly, glanced at her comrades in solicitation of support, and said:

«Oh, I don't know. It seems humanly reasonable that the three of us can woman-handle a mere man of your elderly and insulting avoirdupois. What do you say, girls? Let's rush him. He's not a minute under forty, and he has an aneurism. Yes, and though loath to divulge family secrets, he's got Meniere's Disease.»

Ernestine, a small but robust blonde of eighteen, sprang from the piano and joined her two comrades in a raid on the cushions of the deep window seats. Side by side, a cushion in each hand, and with proper distance between them cannily established for the swinging of the cushions, they advanced upon the foe.

Forrest prepared for battle, then held up his hand for parley.