Page:Burgess--Aint Angie awful.djvu/88

82 man gravely approached her from the opposite direction to that in which she was eating. As he raised his silk hat, he was gnawing his mustache, and his sad smile  smelt of licorice.

“Lady,” said he, “if indeed you are one, pardon me; but you look so much like that  small, elongated musteloid carnivore known  as the Putorius vulgaris that from across the  street I thought you were a weasel; or peradventure you are only Welsh. Would you kindly give me your name?”

He put on his hat, ate a few more mustache, and bowed politely.

Angie not only gave him her name, but a look that made him smile into his mirror  for the rest of his life. For he perceived by her expression that her brain had been thoroughly sterilized after all thinks had been  removed from the shell. All, that is, save one, her favorite whim. She gave her name, in words of one syllable, as if broadcasting  from XYZ.

“And now,” she concluded, “won’t you return the compliment and give me your name too—for keeps?”

This was the proper form of proposal,