“About the stigmatism?” says I.
“O’ course not,” he says. “I told ’em about the cost o’ livin’ bein’ all bunk.”
“Oh, you needn’t of told ’em that,” I says. “They probably knew it already. What did they say?”
“They says they seen it wasn’t no use to try and stop us,” says the kid; “but they insisted on us boardin’ with ’em for a while after we’re married.”
“Are you goin’ to do it?” I ast him.
“Sure,” he says. “We’ll board with ’em as long as they’ll keep us. Then Marion won’t be afraid while I’m here workin’.”
“Afraid o’ what?” I says.
“Gettin’ robbed,” says he.
“Well,” I says, “if I was Marion and married to you, that’s one thing I certainly would be scared to death of. Because, o’ course, you’ll keep all your savin’s in the kitchen cabinet.”
“I don’t expect we’ll have much savin’s at first,” he says.
“How much are they goin’ to soak you for board?” I ast him.
“Four dollars a week,” he says. “That includes three meals a day for Marion and two for me, and, o’ course, our lodgin’.”
“Either they are some o’ the best people,” says I, “or else they’re off their nut, or else they’s somethin’ about you that you leave home when you come to the office.”