III

Now I figured, o’ course, that this sort o’ thing would wear off. I’d had other acquaintances with the same symptoms, but they’d been cured by time, along with plenty of exercise and cuttin’ fats and starches out o’ their diet. In about a month, I thought, he’d be back to normal.

But no. May come and went and we was halfway through June, and no change for the better. For over seventy days, altogether, on an average o’ five times a day, I received the straight inside information that Mrs. Quinn was the best little wife a man ever had. It looked like he’d never get over thinkin’ it was news.

I’m not a nervous guy, as a rule. I take life easier than pretty near anybody I know. But I leave it to you if the calmest fella in the world wouldn’t be affected by a thing like that if it went on long enough.

It got so’s my hands begin to shake and my teeth begin to grind when I seen him comin’. And I’d wake up five and six times a night and start bitin’ the sheets. And a couple o’ times, in my sleep, I hollered out: “She’s the best little wife a man ever had!” My own Missus, all smiles, would tell me about it in the mornin’.

When I caught myself orderin’ a Swiss ess for lunch one noon, I figured it was time to take immediate steps. First, I thought o’ pickin’ a quarrel with him and tellin’ him to keep away from me. But it’d of been just like slappin’ a baby. Then I thought o’ quittin’ my job and lookin’ for another. But I’m in pretty soft where I’m at and I’ll be in better when a couple o’ the fossils dies off. O’ course I could of framed it so’s he’d get fired; but I’m too good-hearted to pull anything like that.

I knew it wasn’t only a question o’ time when she’d say somethin’ or do somethin’ that’d result in him bein’ able to look in her eyes without gettin’ stewed. When that come off, he might still think she was maybe the best little wife, but they’d be enough doubt about it so’s he’d keep it to himself. Considerin’, though, the thickness o’ the shell of his bean,