Alma idly wondered if he’d blow his nose, too. He did. Twice. He made it honk, the sound reminding Alma of Harpo squeezing his bulb horn. Isabel darted a look at Alma, giving her the don’t-you-dare-giggle squint. Alma dug her fingernails into her palm, the inappropriate laugh rising from her throat as she looked up at the ceiling. Blue refolded his handkerchief and returned it to inside his seersucker jacket. Thankfully, Alma’s urge to laugh subsided.