Batt.
"Because," I explained patiently, "they have already been named after
_me_!"
"Couldn't _something_ be named after me?" inquired that fearsome lady.
"The bats," suggested Brown politely, "we could name a bat after you with
pleasure--"
I thought for a moment she meant to swing on him. He thought so, too, and
ducked.
"A bat!" she shouted. "Name a _bat_ after _me_!"
"Many a celebrated scientist has been honoured by having his name
conferred upon humbler fauna," I explained.
But she remained dangerous, so I went and built the fire, and squatted
there, frying bacon, while on the other side of the fire, sitting side
by side, Kitten Brown and Angelica White gazed upon each other with
enraptured eyes. It was slightly sickening--but let that pass. I was
beginning to understand that science is a jealous mistress and that any
contemplated infidelity of mine stood every chance of being squelched.
No; evidently I had not been fashioned for the joys of legal domesticity.
Science, the wanton jade, had not yet finished her dance with me.
Apparently my maxixe with her was to be external. _Fides servanda est._
* * * * *
That afternoon the heavy artillery held a council of war, and evidently
came to a conclusion to make the best of the situation, for toward
sundown they accosted me with a request for the raft, explaining that
they desired to picnic aboard and afterward row about the lake and
indulge in song.
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