“Is this—can it be love?” sighed Angebella, as she sat on a seat in
the park with MacCuthbert’s arm around her waist and his soft voice
whispering fondly in her ear. Oh, it was lovely! “It is, my darling,”
MacCuthbert assured her. “But tell me, sweet one, how do you feel?” “I
feel,” cooed the lady, “as though my heart would leap from my throbbing
breast! My parched throat contracts and then expands, while my breath
comes in quick, choking sobs.”
There was a sudden rustle in the bushes behind them as a sleeping tramp
crawled forth and glowered at them. “I’d take something for it, miss,” he
growled. “That ain’t love you’ve got; it’s hiccups.”
* * * * *