“Sure, you did, dearie,” he says. “We don’t want to break nobody.”
“Wait,” I says to myself, “till they begin losin’ and he won’t take it so cheerful.”
It was my deal and again the pot was a dime shy.
“If somebody’s got to hold out their ante every time,” says I, “I should think it ought to be the host. I’m the baby that’s got to pay for the electric lights and the wear and tear, and the refreshments the Missus has cooked up.”
“Maybe I’m shy,” says Tuttle, winkin’ at me.
“I know I put in,” says Mrs. Hatch.
“That was last month,” I says.
“I don’t remember if I anteed or not,” says my Missus, and what does she do but come in again. And Mrs. Hatch never batted an eye.
Quinn opened this one.
“Shall I stay, dearie?” his honey girl ast him.
“I can’t advise you,” he says. “I’m in it myself.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you was in it,” she says. “O’ course I ain’t goin’ to play against my old sweetheart.”
She laid ’em down, face up. It was one o’ these here jump straights. You couldn’t of made a hand out of it if you’d drawed seven cards.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Quinn,” says I; “but, if old sweetheart hadn’t been in, what was you goin’ to hold up?”