Hancock returned jauntily. “I kiss my lady — the Little Lady.”

As he put up his lips, Paula bent her head forward, and, nicely directed, from the indented crown of her hat canted a glassful of water into his face.

When Leo’s turn came, he bravely made his choice of Paula and nearly spoiled the show by reverently bending and kissing the hem of her gown.

“It will never do,” Ernestine told him. “It must be a real kiss. Put up your lips to be kissed.”

“Let the last be first and kiss me, Leo,” Lute begged, to save him from his embarrassment.

He looked his gratitude, put up his lips, but without enough tilt of his head, so that he received the water from Lute’s