“They’s somethin’ wrong with ’em,” says the Missus. “They act like they was mad at each other. And Bess told me when we was out to the Edgewater Club that she wished we was home.”
“That’s a fine way for her to talk,” I says, “when I’m tryin’ to show her a good time!”
“And I overheard Elmer,” says the Missus, “askin’ one o’ the bell boys where he could get somethin’ to drink; and the bell boy ast him what kind of a drink, and he says, whisky or poison—it didn’t make no difference.”
“If I was sure he’d take the poison I’d try to get it for him,” I says.
On the grass and the benches in the park we seen some o’ the gang that’d came over on the boat with us. They looked like they’d laid there all night and the kids was cryin’ louder’n ever. Besides them we seen dozens o’ young couples that was still on speakin’ terms, because they’d only been together an hour or two. The girls was wearin’ nice, clean, white dresses and white shoes, and was all prettied up. They seemed to be havin’ the time o’ their life. And by four o’clock in the afternoon their fingers would be stuck together with crackerjack and their dresses decorated with chocolate syrup, and their escorts talkin’ to ’em like a section boss to a gang o’ hunkies.
We wandered round till dinnertime, and then dropped into a little restaurant where they give you a whole meal for thirty-five cents and make a profit of thirty-five cents. When we’d staggered out under the weight o’ this repast, a streetcar was standin’ there that said it would take us to the House o’ David.
“Come on!” I says, and led the Missus aboard.
“Where to?” she ast me.
“I don’t know,” I says; “but it sounds like a road house.”