"Then there's undertakers," I broke in. "If a undertaker buried nine corpses one day, and six and a half the next—"
I had to stop, for Angel was convulsed with laughter, and The Seraph was beginning to get noisy.
Angel produced a small bottle of licorice water from his pocket and took a long mouthful. Then he handed it to me. It was soothing, delicious.
"Me too!" cried The Seraph, and I held it to his eager little mouth.
"Here," said Angel angrily, "he's swiggin' down the whole thing. Drop it, young'un!"
At the same moment, the door opened quietly, and Mrs. Handsomebody entered. I tore the bottle from The Seraph's clinging lips, and stuffed it, corkless, into my pocket.
Mrs. Handsomebody sat down and disposed her skirt about her knees. Her eyes travelled over us.
"Alexander," she said to The Seraph, "stand up." He meekly rose.
"What is that on your chin?"
The Seraph explored his chin with his tongue.
"It tastes sweet," he said.
"I asked what is it?"
The Seraph shot an imploring glance at Angel.
"I fink," he hedged, "it's some of the gwavy fwom dinner left over."
[222]
