night, at different members’ houses, somebody different actin’ as hosts every week. And each couple puts up two dollars, makin’ ten dollars for a gent’s prize and ten dollars for a lady’s. And the prizes is picked out by the lady that happens to be the hostess.”
“That’s a swell proposition for me,” I says. “In the first place they wouldn’t be a chance in the world for me to win a prize, because I don’t know nothin’ about the game. And, in the second place, suppose I had a whole lot o’ luck and did win the prize, and come to find out it was a silver mustache cup that I wouldn’t have no more use for than another Adam’s apple! If they paid in cash they might be somethin’ to it.”
“If you win a prize you can sell it, can’t you?” says the Missus. “Besides, the prizes don’t count. It’s gettin’ in with the right kind o’ people that makes the difference.”
“Another thing,” I says: “When it come our turn to have the party, where would we stick ’em all? We’d have to spread a sheet over the bathtub for one table, and have one couple set on the edges and the other couple toss up for the washbasin and the clothes-hamper. And another two couple’d have to kneel round the bed, and another bunch could stand up round the bureau. That’d leave the dinin’ room table for the fourth set; and for a special treat the remainin’ four could play in the parlor.”
“We could hire chairs and tables,” says the Missus. “We’re goin’ to have to some time, anyway, when you or I die.”
“You don’t need to hire no tables for my funeral,” I says. “If the pallbearers or the quartet insists on shootin’ craps they can use the kitchen floor; or if they want beer and sandwiches you can slip ’em the money to go down to the corner.”
“They’s no use worryin’ about our end of it yet,” says the Wife. “We’ll be new members and they won’t expect us to give no party till everybody else has had their turn.”