“You’ll have to argue that out with the agent,” she says.
I was kind of expectin’ a cocktail; but nothin’ doin’. The hired girl brought in some half sandwiches, made o’ toast, with somethin’ on ’em that looked like BB shot and tasted like New Year’s mornin’.
“Don’t we get no liquid refreshments?” I ast Mrs. Messenger.
“No, indeed,” she says. “The San Susie’s a dry club.”
“You should ought to call it the San Sousy, then,” says I.
The Missus was settin’ next to Mr. Garrett and I could hear ’em talkin’ about what a nice neighborhood it was and how they liked their flats. I thought I and the Missus might as well settle our bet then and there, so I spoke to Mr. Garrett acrost the table.
“ Mr. Garrett,” I says, “w’ile we was waitin’ for you and your wife to get dressed, I and the Missus made a little bet, a pair o’ silk stockin’ against half a buck. I got to pay out two dollars here for the prize and the Missus claims her other stockin’s has begun to run; so you might say we’re both a little anxious.”
“Is it somethin’ I can settle?” he ast.
“Yes, sir,” I says, “because we was bettin’ on the rent you paid for this apartment. The Missus says seventy a month and I says fifty-five.”
“I never decide against a lady,” he says. “You better buy the stockin’s before the others run so far that they can’t find their way home.”
“If I lose, I lose,” says I. “But if you’re stuck sixty-five or better, the Missus must of steered me wrong about the number o’ rooms you got. I’ll pay, though, because I don’t never welsh on a bet. So this party’s really costin’ me two and a half instead o’ two.”