Kitabı oku: «Gullible's Travels, Etc.», sayfa 5
"Yes," I says; "and you could have one just like 'em if you'd take the shade offen the piano lamp at home and cut it down to the right size."
Round ten o'clock we wandered in the Palm Garden, where the dancin' had been renewed. The Wife wanted to plunge right in the mazes o' the foxy trot.
"I'll take some courage first," says I. And then was when I found out that it cost you ten cents extra besides the tip to pay for a drink that you already owned in fee simple.
Well, I guess we must of danced about six dances together and had that many quarrels before she was ready to go to bed. And oh, how grand that old hay-pile felt when I finally bounced into it!
The next day we went to the ocean at the legal hour – half past eleven. I never had so much fun in my life. The surf was runnin' high, I heard 'em say; and I don't know which I'd rather do, go bathin' in the ocean at Palm Beach when the surf is runnin' high, or have a dentist get one o' my molars ready for a big inlay at a big outlay. Once in a w'ile I managed to not get throwed on my head when a wave hit me. As for swimmin', you had just as much chance as if you was at State and Madison at the noon hour. And before I'd been in a minute they was enough salt in my different features to keep the Blackstone hotel runnin' all through the onion season.
The Missus enjoyed it just as much as me. She tried to pretend at first, and when she got floored she'd give a squeal that was supposed to mean heavenly bliss. But after she'd been bruised from head to feet and her hair looked and felt like spinach with French dressin', and she'd drank all she could hold o' the Gulf Stream, she didn't resist none when I drug her in to shore and staggered with her up to our private rooms at five a week per each.
Without consultin' her, I went to the desk at the Casino and told 'em they could have them rooms back.
"All right," says the clerk, and turned our keys over to the next in line.
"How about a refund?" I ast him; but he was waitin' on somebody else.
After that we done our bathin' in the tub. But we was down to the beach every morning at eleven-thirty to watch the rest o' them get batted round.
And at half past twelve every day we'd follow the crowd to the Breakers' porch and dance together, the Missus and I. Then it'd be back to the other hostelry, sometimes limpin' and sometimes in an Afromobile, and a drink or two in the Palm Garden before lunch. And after lunch we'd lay down; or we'd pay some Eph two or three dollars to pedal us through the windin' jungle trail, that was every bit as wild as the Art Institute; or we'd ferry acrost Lake Worth to West Palm Beach and take in a movie, or we'd stand in front o' the portable Fifth Avenue stores w'ile the Missus wished she could have this dress or that hat, or somethin' else that she wouldn't of looked at if she'd been home and in her right mind. But always at half past four we had to live up to the rules and be in the Cocoanut Grove for tea and some more foxy trottin'. And then it was dress for dinner, eat dinner, watch the parade and wind up the glorious day with more dancin'.
I bet you any amount you name that the Castles in their whole life haven't danced together as much as I and the Missus did at Palm Beach. I'd of gave five dollars if even one o' the waiters had took her offen my hands for one dance. But I knowed that if I made the offer public they'd of been a really serious quarrel between us instead o' just the minor brawls occasioned by steppin' on each other's feet.
She made a discovery one night. She found out that they was a place called the Beach Club where most o' the real people disappeared to every evenin' after dinner. She says we would have to go there too.
"But I ain't a member," I says.
"Then find out how you get to be one," she says.
So to the Beach Club I went and made inquiries.
"You'll have to be introduced by a guy that already belongs," says the man at the door.
"Who belongs?" I ast him.
"Hundreds o' people," he says. "Who do you know?"
"Two waiters, two barkeepers and one elevator boy," I says.
He laughed, but his laugh didn't get me no membership card and I had to dance three or four extra times the next day to square myself with the Missus.
She made another discovery and it cost me six bucks. She found out that, though the meals in the regular dinin'-room was included in the triflin' rates per day, the real people had at least two o' their meals in the garden grill and paid extra for 'em. We tried it for one meal and I must say I enjoyed it – all but the check.
"We can't keep up that clip," I says to her.
"We could," says she, "if you wasn't spendin' so much on your locker."
"The locker's a matter o' life and death," I says. "They ain't no man in the world that could dance as much with their own wife as I do and live without liquid stimulus."
When we'd been there four days she got to be on speakin' terms with the ladies' maid that hung round the lobby and helped put the costumes back on when they slipped off. From this here maid the Missus learned who was who, and the information was relayed to me as soon as they was a chance. We'd be settin' on the porch when I'd feel an elbow in my ribs all of a sudden. I'd look up at who was passin' and then try and pretend I was excited.
"Who is it?" I'd whisper.
"That's Mrs. Vandeventer," the Wife'd say. "Her husband's the biggest street-car conductor in Philadelphia."
Or somebody'd set beside us at the beach or in the Palm Garden and my ribs would be all battered up before the Missus was calm enough to tip me off.
"The Vincents," she'd say; "the canned prune people."
It was a little bit thrillin' at first to be rubbin' elbows with all them celeb's; but it got so finally that I could walk out o' the dinin'-room right behind Scotti, the opera singer, without forgettin' that my feet hurt.
The Washington's Birthday Ball brought 'em all together at once, and the Missus pointed out eight and nine at a time and got me so mixed up that I didn't know Pat Vanderbilt from Maggie Rockefeller. The only one you couldn't make no mistake about was a Russian count that you couldn't pronounce. He was buyin' bay mules or somethin' for the Russian government, and he was in ambush.
"They say he can't hardly speak a word of English," says the Missus.
"If I knowed the word for barber shop in Russia," says I, "I'd tell him they was one in this hotel."
V
In our mail box the next mornin' they was a notice that our first week was up and all we owed was one hundred and forty-six dollars and fifty cents. The bill for room and meals was one hundred and nineteen dollars. The rest was for gettin' clo'es pressed and keepin' the locker damp.
I didn't have no appetite for breakfast. I told the Wife I'd wait up in the room and for her to come when she got through. When she blew in I had my speech prepared.
"Look here," I says; "this is our eighth day in Palm Beach society. You're on speakin' terms with a maid and I've got acquainted with half a dozen o' the male hired help. It's cost us about a hundred and sixty-five dollars, includin' them private rooms down to the Casino and our Afromobile trips, and this and that. You know a whole lot o' swell people by sight, but you can't talk to 'em. It'd be just as much satisfaction and hundreds o' dollars cheaper to look up their names in the telephone directory at home; then phone to 'em and, when you got 'em, tell 'em it was the wrong number. That way, you'd get 'em to speak to you at least.
"As for sport," I says, "we don't play golf and we don't play tennis and we don't swim. We go through the same program o' doin' nothin' every day. We dance, but we don't never change partners. For twelve dollars I could buy a phonograph up home and I and you could trot round the livin'-room all evenin' without no danger o' havin' some o' them fancy birds cave our shins in. And we could have twice as much liquid refreshments up there at about a twentieth the cost.
"That Gould I met on the train comin' down," I says, "was a even bigger liar than I give him credit for. He says that when he was here people pestered him to death by comin' up and speakin' to him. We ain't had to dodge nobody or hide behind a cocoanut tree to remain exclusive. He says Palm Beach was too common for him. What he should of said was that it was too lonesome. If they was just one white man here that'd listen to my stuff I wouldn't have no kick. But it ain't no pleasure tellin' stories to the Ephs. They laugh whether it's good or not, and then want a dime for laughin'.
"As for our clo'es," I says, "they would be all right for a couple o' days' stay. But the dames round here, and the men, too, has somethin' different to put on for every mornin', afternoon and night. You've wore your two evenin' gowns so much that I just have to snap my finger at the hooks and they go and grab the right eyes.
"The meals would be grand," I says, "if the cook didn't keep gettin' mixed up and puttin' puddin' sauce on the meat and gravy on the pie.
"I'm glad we've been to Palm Beach," I says. "I wouldn't of missed it for nothin'. But the ocean won't be no different to-morrow than it was yesterday, and the same for the daily program. It don't even rain here, to give us a little variety.
"Now what do you say," I says, "to us just settlin' this bill, and whatever we owe since then, and beatin' it out o' here just as fast as we can go?"
The Missus didn't say nothin' for a w'ile. She was too busy cryin'. She knowed that what I'd said was the truth, but she wouldn't give up without a struggle.
"Just three more days," she says finally. "If we don't meet somebody worth meetin' in the next three days I'll go wherever you want to take me."
"All right," I says; "three more days it is. What's a little matter o' sixty dollars?"
Well, in them next two days and a half she done some desperate flirtin', but as it was all with women I didn't get jealous. She picked out some o' the E-light o' Chicago and tried every trick she could think up. She told 'em their noses was shiny and offered 'em her powder. She stepped on their white shoes just so's to get a chance to beg their pardon. She told 'em their clo'es was unhooked, and then unhooked 'em so's she could hook 'em up again. She tried to loan 'em her finger-nail tools. When she seen one fannin' herself she'd say: "Excuse me, Mrs. So-and-So; but we got the coolest room in the hotel, and I'd be glad to have you go up there and quit perspirin'." But not a rise did she get.
Not till the afternoon o' the third day o' grace. And I don't know if I ought to tell you this or not – only I'm sure you won't spill it nowheres.
We'd went up in our room after lunch. I was tired out and she was discouraged. We'd set round for over an hour, not sayin' or doin' nothin'.
I wanted to talk about the chance of us gettin' away the next mornin', but I didn't dast bring up the subject.
The Missus complained of it bein' hot and opened the door to leave the breeze go through. She was settin' in a chair near the doorway, pretendin' to read the Palm Beach News. All of a sudden she jumped up and kind o' hissed at me.
"What's the matter?" I says, springin' from the lounge.
"Come here!" she says, and went out the door into the hall.
I got there as fast as I could, thinkin' it was a rat or a fire. But the Missus just pointed to a lady walkin' away from us, six or seven doors down.
"It's Mrs. Potter," she says; "the Mrs. Potter from Chicago!"
"Oh!" I says, puttin' all the excitement I could into my voice.
And I was just startin' back into the room when I seen Mrs. Potter stop and turn round and come to'rd us. She stopped again maybe twenty feet from where the Missus was standin'.
"Are you on this floor?" she says.
The Missus shook like a leaf.
"Yes," says she, so low you couldn't hardly hear her.
"Please see that they's some towels put in 559," says the Mrs. Potter from Chicago.
VI
About five o'clock the Wife quieted down and I thought it was safe to talk to her. "I've been readin' in the guide about a pretty river trip," I says. "We can start from here on the boat to-morrow mornin'. They run to Fort Pierce to-morrow and stay there to-morrow night. The next day they go from Fort Pierce to Rockledge, and the day after that from Rockledge to Daytona. The fare's only five dollars apiece. And we can catch a north-bound train at Daytona."
"All right, I don't care," says the Missus.
So I left her and went down-stairs and acrost the street to ask Mr. Foster. Ask Mr. Foster happened to be a girl. She sold me the boat tickets and promised she would reserve a room with bath for us at Fort Pierce, where we was to spend the followin' night. I bet she knowed all the w'ile that rooms with a bath in Fort Pierce is scarcer than toes on a sturgeon.
I went back to the room and helped with the packin' in an advisory capacity. Neither one of us had the heart to dress for dinner. We ordered somethin' sent up and got soaked an extra dollar for service. But we was past carin' for a little thing like that.
At nine o'clock next mornin' the good ship Constitution stopped at the Poinciana dock w'ile we piled aboard. One bellhop was down to see us off and it cost me a quarter to get that much attention. Mrs. Potter must of over-slept herself.
The boat was loaded to the guards and I ain't braggin' when I say that we was the best-lookin' people aboard. And as for manners, why, say, old Bill Sykes could of passed off for Henry Chesterfield in that gang! Each one o' them occupied three o' the deck chairs and sprayed orange juice all over their neighbors. We could of talked to plenty o' people here, all right; they were as clubby a gang as I ever seen. But I was afraid if I said somethin' they'd have to answer; and, with their mouths as full o' citrus fruit as they was, the results might of been fatal to my light suit.
We went up the lake to a canal and then through it to Indian River. The boat run aground every few minutes and had to be pried loose. About twelve o'clock a cullud gemman come up on deck and told us lunch was ready. At half past one he served it at a long family table in the cabin. As far as I was concerned, he might as well of left it on the stove. Even if you could of bit into the food, a glimpse of your fellow diners would of strangled your appetite.
After the repast I called the Missus aside.
"Somethin' tells me we're not goin' to live through three days o' this," I says. "What about takin' the train from Fort Pierce and beatin' it for Jacksonville, and then home?"
"But that'd get us to Chicago too quick," says she. "We told people how long we was goin' to be gone and if we got back ahead o' time they'd think they was somethin' queer."
"They's too much queer on this boat," I says. "But you're goin' to have your own way from now on."
We landed in Fort Pierce about six. It was only two or three blocks to the hotel, but when they laid out that part o' town they overlooked some o' the modern conveniences, includin' sidewalks. We staggered through the sand with our grips and sure had worked up a hunger by the time we reached Ye Inn.
"Got reservations for us here?" I ast the clerk.
"Yes," he says, and led us to 'em in person.
The room he showed us didn't have no bath, or even a chair that you could set on w'ile you pulled off your socks.
"Where's the bath?" I ast him.
"This way," he says, and I followed him down the hall, outdoors and up an alley.
Finally we come to a bathroom complete in all details, except that it didn't have no door. I went back to the room, got the Missus and went down to supper. Well, sir, I wish you could of been present at that supper. The choice o' meats was calves' liver and onions or calves' liver and onions. And I bet if them calves had of been still livin' yet they could of gave us some personal reminiscences about Garfield.
The Missus give the banquet one look and then laughed for the first time in several days.
"The guy that named this burg got the capitals mixed," I says. "It should of been Port Fierce."
And she laughed still heartier. Takin' advantage, I says:
"How about the train from here to Jacksonville?"
"You win!" says she. "We can't get home too soon to suit me."
VII
The mornin' we landed in Chicago it was about eight above and a wind was comin' offen the Lake a mile a minute. But it didn't feaze us.
"Lord!" says the Missus. "Ain't it grand to be home!"
"You said somethin'," says I. "But wouldn't it of been grander if we hadn't never left?"
"I don't know about that," she says. "I think we both of us learned a lesson."
"Yes," I says; "and the tuition wasn't only a matter o' close to seven hundred bucks!"
"Oh," says she, "we'll get that back easy!"
"How?" I ast her. "Do you expect some tips on the market from Mrs. Potter and the rest o' your new friends?"
"No," she says. "We'll win it. We'll win it in the rummy game with the Hatches."
THE WATER CURE
When it comes to makin' matches I hand it to the women. When it comes to breakin' 'em leave it to the handsomer sex.
The thirteenth o' June didn't light on a Friday, but old Tuesday come through in the pinch with just as good results. Dear little Sister-in-law Bess blew in on the afternoon train from Wabash. She says she was makin' us a surprise visit. The surprise affected me a good deal like the one that was pulled on Napoleon at Waterloo, Ia.
"How long are you goin' to light up our home?" I ast her at the supper table.
"I haven't made up my mind," says she.
"That's all you've missed, then," I says.
"Don't mind him!" says my Missus. "He's just a tease. You look grand and we're both tickled to death to have you here. You may stay with us all summer."
"No question about that," I says. "Not only may, but li'ble to."
"If I do," says Bess, "it'll be on my sister's account, not yourn."
"But I'm the baby that settles your sister's account," I says; "and it was some account after you left us last winter. With your visit and our cute little trip to Palm Beach, I'm not what you'd call cramped for pocket space."
"I guess I can pay my board," says Bess.
"I guess you won't!" says the Wife.
"The second guess is always better," says I.
"As for you entertainin' me, I don't expect nothin' like that," says Bess.
"If you was lookin' for a quiet time," I says, "you made a big mistake by leavin' Wabash."
"And I'm not lookin' for no quiet time, neither," Bess says right back at me.
"Well," says I, "about the cheapest noisy time I can recommend is to go over and set under the elevated."
"Maybe Bess has somethin' up in her sleeve," the Missus says, smilin'. "You ain't the only man in Chicago."
"I'm the only one she knows," says I, "outside o' that millionaire scenario writer that had us all in misery last winter. And I wouldn't say he was over-ardent after he'd knew her a week."
Then the Wife winked at me to close up and I didn't get the dope till we was alone together.
"They correspond," she told me.
"Absolutely," says I.
"I mean they been writin' letters to each other," says the Missus.
"Who's been buyin' Bishop's stamps?" I ast her.
"I guess a man can buy his own stamps when he gets ten thousand a year," says she. "Anyway, the reason Bess is here is to see him."
"Is it illegal for him to go to Wabash and see her?" I says.
"He's too busy to go to Wabash," the Wife says.
"I don't see how a man could be too busy for that," says I.
"She phoned him this noon," says the Missus. "He couldn't come over here to-night, but to-morrow he's goin' to take her to the ball game."
"Where all the rest o' the busy guys hangs out," I says. "Aren't the White Sox havin' enough bad luck without him?"
That reminded me that I'd came home before the final extras was out; so I put on my hat and went over to Tim's to look at the score-board. It took me till one A. M. to memorize the batteries and everything. The Wife was still awake yet when I got home and I had enough courage to resume hostilities.
"If what you told me about Bishop and Bess is true," I says, "I guess I'll pack up and go fishin' for the rest o' the summer."
"And leave me to starve, I suppose!" says she.
"Bishop'll take care of the both o' you," I says. "If he don't I'll send you home a couple o' carp."
"If you go and leave me it's the last time!" she says. "And it shows you don't care nothin' about me."
"I care about you, all right," I says; "but not enough to be drove crazy in my own house."
"They's nothin' for you to go crazy about," she says. "If Bess and Mr. Bishop wants to tie up leave 'em alone and forget about 'em."
"I'd like nothin' better," I says; "but you know they'll give us no chance to forget about 'em."
"Why not?" she ast me.
"Because they'd starve to death without us," I says.
"Starve to death!" she says. "On ten thousand a year!"
"Now here!" I says. "Who told you he got that trifle?"
"He did," says the Wife.
"And how do you know he wasn't overestimatin'?" I ast her.
"You mean how do I know he wasn't lyin'?" she says.
"Yes," says I.
"Because he's a gentleman," she says.
"And he told you that, too?" I ast.
"No," she says. "I could tell that by lookin' at him."
"All right, Clara Voyant!" I says. "And maybe you can tell by lookin' at me how much money he borrowed off'n me and never give back."
"When? How much?" she says.
"One at a time, please," says I. "The amount o' the cash transaction was a twenty-dollar gold certificate. And the time he shook me down was the evenin' he took us to hear Ada, and was supposed to be payin' for it."
"I can't believe it," says the Missus.
"All right," I says. "When he brings Bessie home from the ball game to-morrow I'll put it up to him right in front o' you."
"No! You mustn't do that!" she says. "I won't have him insulted."
"You would have him insulted if I knowed how to go about it," I says.
"You stayed over to Tim's too long," says the Wife.
"Yes," says I, "and I made arrangements to stay over there every time Bishop comes here."
"Suit yourself," she says, and pretended like she was asleep.
Well, the next mornin' I got to thinkin' over what I'd said and wonderin' if I'd went too strong. But I couldn't see where. This bird was a dude that had got acquainted with Bessie on the train when she was on her way here to visit us last winter. He'd infested the house all the while she was with us. He'd gave us that ten-thousand-dollar yarn and told us he made it by writin' movin'-pitcher plays, but we never seen none o' them advertised and never run into anybody that had heard of him.
The Missus had picked him out for Bess the minute she seen him. Bessie herself had fell for him strong. To keep 'em both from droppin' cyanide in my gruel, I'd took him along with us to see The Love o' Three Kings, besides buyin' his groceries and provisions for pretty near a week and standin' for the upkeep on the davenport where him and Bess held hands. Finally, after he'd went six days without submittin' even circumstantial evidence that he'd ever had a dime, I bullied him into sayin' he'd give us a party.
Then they'd been an argument over where he'd take us. He'd suggested a vaudeville show, but I jumped on that with both feet. Bessie held out for a play, but I told her they wasn't none that I'd leave a young unmarried sister-in-law o' mine go to.
"Oh," Bess had said, "they must be some that's perfectly genteel."
"Yes," I told her, "there is some; but they're not worth seein'."
So they'd ast what was left and I'd mentioned grand opera.
"They're worse than plays, the most o' them," was the Wife's cut-in.
"But all the risky parts is sang in Latin and Greek," I'd said.
Well, Bishop put up a great fight, but I wouldn't break ground, and finally he says he would take us to opera if he could get tickets.
"I'm down-town every day," I'd told him. "I'll have 'em reserved for you."
But no; he wouldn't see me put to all that trouble for the world; he'd do the buyin' himself.
So Ada was what he took us to on a Sunday night, when the seats was cut to half price. And when I and him went out between acts to try the limes he catched me with my guard down and frisked the twenty.
Now Bess had tipped off the Wife that her and Bishop was practically engaged, but the night after Ada was the last night of her visit and Bishop hadn't never came round. So Bessie'd cried all night and tried to get him by phone before she left next day; but neither o' them two acts done her any good. It looked like he was all through. On the way to the train Bess and the Missus had ruined three or four handkerchiefs and called the bird every low-down flirt they could think of. I didn't say a word; nor did I perfume my linen with brine.
Here, though, was Bess back in town and Old Man Short makin' up to her again. And they'd been correspondin'. The second time was li'ble to take, unless outside brains come to the rescue.
If I'd thought for a minute that they'd leave us out of it and go away somewhere by themself and live – the North Side, or one o' the suburbs, or Wabash – I wouldn't of cared how many times they married each other. But I had him spotted for a loafer that couldn't earn a livin', and I knowed what the maritile nuptials between Bess and he meant – it meant that I and the Missus would have all the pleasures o' conductin' a family hotel without the pain o' makin' out receipts.
Now I always wanted a boy and a girl, but I wanted 'em to be kind o' youngish when I got 'em. I never craved addin' a married couple to my family – not even if they was crazy about rummy and paid all their bills. And when it come to Bishop and Bess, well, they was just as welcome to my home as Villa and all the little Villains.
It wasn't just Bishop, with his quaint habit o' never havin' car fare. Bess, in her way, was as much of a liability. You couldn't look at her without a slight relapse. She had two complexions – A.M. and P.M. The P.M. wasn't so bad, but she could of put the other in her vanity box for a mirror. Her nose curved a little away from the batsman and wasn't no wider than a Julienne potato, and yet it had to draw in to get between her eyes. Her teeth was real pretty and she always kept her lips ajar. But the baseball reporters named Matty's favorite delivery after her chin, and from there down the curves was taboo.
Where she made a hit with Bishop was laughin' at everything he pulled – that is, he thought she was laughin'. The fact was that she was snatchin' the chance to show more o' them teeth. They wasn't no use showin' 'em to me; so I didn't get laughs from her on my stuff, only when he or some other stranger was round. And if my stuff wasn't funnier than Bishop's I'll lay down my life for Austria.
As a general rule, I don't think a man is justified in interferin' with other people's hymeneal intentions, but it's different when the said intentions is goin' to make your own home a hell.
It was up to me to institute proceedin's that would check the flight o' these two cooin' doves before their wings took 'em to Crown Point in a yellow flivver.
And I seen my duty all the more clear when the pair come home from the ball game the day after Bessie's arrival, and not only told me that the White Sox got another trimmin' but laughed when they said it.
"Well, Bishop," I says when we set down to supper, "how many six-reelers are you turnin' out a day?"
"About one every two weeks is the limit," says Bishop.
"I'll bet it is," I says. "And who are you workin' for now?"
"The Western Film Corporation," he says. "But I'm goin' to quit 'em the first o' the month."
"What for?" I ast him.
"Better offer from the Criterion," he says.
"Better'n ten thousand a year?" says I.
"Sure!" he says.
"Twenty dollars better?" I says.
He blushed and the Wife sunk my shin with a patent-leather torpedo. Then Bishop says:
"The raise I'm gettin' would make twenty dollars look sick."
"If you'd give it to me," I says, "I'd try and nurse it back to health."
After supper the Missus called me out in the kitchen to bawl me out.
"It's rough stuff to embarrass a guest," she says.
"He's always embarrassed," says I. "But you admit now, don't you, that I was tellin' the truth about him touchin' me?"
"Yes," she says.
"Well," says I, "if he's so soiled with money, why don't he pay a little puny debt?"
"He's probably forgot it," says she.
"Did he look like he'd forgot it?" I ast her. And she had no come-back.
But when my Missus can overlook a guy stingin' me for legal tender, it means he's in pretty strong with her. And I couldn't count on no help from her, even if Bishop was a murderer, so long as Bess wanted him.
The next mornin', just to amuse myself, I called up the Criterion people and ast them if they was goin' to hire a scenario writer name Elmer Bishop.
"Never heard of him," was what they told me.
So I called up the Western.
"Elmer Bishop?" they says. "He ain't no scenario writer. He's what we call an extra. He plays small parts sometimes."
"And what pay do them extras drag down?" I ast.
"Five dollars a day, but nothin' when they don't work," was the thrillin' response.
My first idea was to slip this dope to the Wife and Bess both. But what'd be the use? They wouldn't believe it even if they called up and found out for themself; and if they did believe it, Bessie'd say a man's pay didn't make no difference where true love was concerned, and the Missus would take her part, and they'd cry a little, and wind up by sendin' for Bishop and a minister to make sure o' the ceremony comin' off before Bishop lost his five-dollar job and croaked himself.
Then I thought o' forbiddin' him the hospitality o' my abode. But that'd be just as useless. They'd meet somewheres else, and if I threatened to lock Bess out, the Wife'd come back with a counter-proposition to not give me no more stewed beets or banana soufflés. Besides that, strong-arm methods don't never kill sweet love, but act just the opposite and make the infected parties more set on gettin' each other. This here case was somethin' delicate, and if a man didn't handle it exactly right you wouldn't never get over bein' sorry.
So, instead o' me quarrelin' with the Wife and Bess, and raisin' a fuss at Bishop spendin' eight evenin's a week with us, I kept my clam closed and tried to be pleasant, even when I'd win a hand o' rummy and see this guy carelessly lose a few of his remainin' face cards under the table.
