There was some whisperin’ between the dearies. It lasted two or three minutes. Then Mrs. Quinn called.
I’d been right about Hatch. I gathered his hand up from where he’d threw it, against the far wall. Two bullets was all he had. And the sweet young bride, with Harry’s full knowledge and consent, had called on fours and treys.
The final reckonin’ showed that Mrs. Hatch was seventy cents to the bad, beatin’ her former record by thirty cents. Hatch had lost seven bucks, Tuttle’d dropped six, and I and the Missus eight between us. The Quinns was about twenty-one dollars ahead and still speakin’ to each other; yes, and takin’ bites out of each other’s sandwiches.
“Well,” says Mrs. Quinn when they was ready to go, “we’ve certainly enjoyed this a whole lot and you was awful kind to have us over.”
“It was sweet o’ you to come,” says the Missus.
“You’ll have to come to our house sometime,” says Mrs. Quinn. “Maybe we’ll let you win some o’ that twenty-one dollars back. Won’t we, dearie?”
“I almost feel like givin’ it back now,” says her spouse.
Tuttle whispered in my ear.
“Get ’em out o’ here before I break some o’ your furniture over their bean!”
But, before they beat it, each one of us got a giggle and a few squeaks and a dainty handclasp from the fair one.
Hatch and his wife left right after ’em, Jim’s mouth all ready and open to begin ruthless warfare. Tuttle was the sad one. He had to wait till he got