“The wind made me sleepy,” says Bishop. “I believe I’ll go up to my room and turn in.”
“The rooms is not ready,” I says. “The clerk’ll let us know as soon as we can have ’em.”
But he didn’t take my word; and when he’d talked to the clerk himself, and found out that he could have his room right away, they wasn’t no arguin’ with him. Off he went to bed at eight p.m. , leavin’ the Missus and I to entertain the Belle o’ Wabash.
Sunday mornin’ I added to my investment by hirin’ a flivver to take us out to the Edgewater Club.
“Now,” I says, “we’ll rent some bathin’ suits and cool off.”
“I don’t dast go in,” says Bishop. “I’d take more cold. I’ll watch the rest o’ you.”
Well, I didn’t care whether he went in or not, the water bein’ too shallow along there to drownd him; but I did want him to watch the rest of us—one in particular.
The suit they gave her was an Annette. I wouldn’t make no attempt to describe what she looked like in it, unless it’d be a capital Y that had got turned upside down. She didn’t have no displacement and she could of stayed in all day without the lake ever findin’ out she was there.
But I cut the film short so’s I could get ’em back to the hotel and leave the pair together again.
“You’re goin’ to have all the rest o’ the day to yourself,” I told ’em. “We won’t eat dinner with you. I and the Missus will just disappear and meet you here in the hotel at seven o’clock tonight.”
“Where are you goin’?” ast Bishop.