“When I get desperately anxious to meet high-class people,” she says, “I’ll be sure and pick out the Saturday afternoon boat from Chicago to St. Joe.”
“You can’t judge people by their looks,” says I. “You haven’t heard ’em talk.”
“No; and couldn’t understand ’em if I did,” she says.
“I’ll bet some o’ them’s just as bright as we are,” I says.
“I’m not lookin’ for bright companionship,” she says. “I want a change.”
“That’s just like I told you,” says I. “You’re bound to get tired o’ one person, no matter how much they sparkle, if you live with ’em long enough.”
We left the deck and went downstairs. They was two or three people peerin’ in the engine-room and the Missus made me stop there a minute.
“What for?” I ast her.
“I want to see how it works,” she says.
“Well,” says I, when we’d started on again, “I can drop my insurance now.”
“Why?” says the Missus.
“I don’t never need to worry about you starvin’,” I says. “With the knowledge you just picked up there, I bet you could easy land a job as engineer on one o’ these boats.”
“I’d do about as good as you would at it,” she says.