“I ain’t goin’ to force myself on to you,” says Bessie. “You don’t have to take me nowheres if you don’t want to.”
“I wisht you’d put that in writin’ in case of a lawsuit,” I says.
“Listen here,” says the Frau. “Get this straight: Either Bess goes or I don’t go.”
“You can both stay home,” says I. “I don’t anticipate no trouble findin’ a partner.”
“All right, that’s settled,” says the Missus. “We’ll have a party of our own.”
And it must of been goin’ to be a dandy, because just speakin’ about it made her cry. So I says:
“You win! But I’ll prob’ly have to change the tickets.”
“What kind o’ tickets have you got?” ast the Missus.
“Cheap ones,” I says. “Downstairs, five per.”
“How grand!” says Bessie.
“Yes,” I says, “but I’m afraid I got the last two they had. I’ll prob’ly have to give them back and take three balcony seats.”
“That’s all right, just so’s Bess goes,” says the Wife.
“ Mr. Bishop’s wild about music,” says Bessie.
“Well,” I says, “he prob’ly gets passes to the pitcher houses.”
“He don’t hear no real music there,” says Bessie.
“Well,” says I, “suppose when he comes tomorrow, I mention somethin’ about I and the Missus havin’ tickets to the op’ra Tuesday night. Then,