When the Boston Lamb came leaping up the stairs to add his weight to the balancing of accounts, he found a riotous crowd.
"Just because my luggage was derailed and burned up out in the Kansas deserts," the Goat was saying, "and I struck New York in a suit of hobo clothes from Topeka-oh, you fellows are easy marks!"
"Where are your Moravian grandparents?" demanded the Albany Lamb.
"Don't know," said the Goat, unfilially.
"They died before I was born. They weren't Moravians, anyway."
"See here!" The Boston Lamb jerked him to his feet with one hand and assaulted him with the other.
"What was that stuff you were reeling off to my cousin? As her nearest male relative, geographically speaking, I insist on an explanation."
"That was Japanese," said the Goat, with a grin, and immediately favored the crowd with several more doubtfully emphatic remarks in the same tongue.
"I pass!" said the Boston Lamb, meekly.
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