house; so, to make it realistical, I blowed down to Andy’s and looked after some o’ my other investments.
We always have dinner Sundays at one o’clock, but o’ course Bishop didn’t know that and showed up prompt at ten bells, before I was halfway through the comical section. I had to go to the door because the Missus don’t never put on her shoes till she’s positive the family on the first floor is all awake, and Bessie was baskin’ in the kind o’ water that don’t come in your lease at Wabash.
“ Mr. Bishop, ain’t it?” I says, lookin’ him straight in the upper lip.
“How’d you know?” he says, smilin’.
“The girls told me to be expectin’ a handsome man o’ that name,” I says. “And they told me about the mustache.”
“Wouldn’t be much to tell,” says Bishop.
“It’s young yet,” I says. “Come in and take a weight off your feet.”
So he picked out the only chair we got that ain’t upholstered with flatirons and we set down and was tryin’ to think o’ somethin’ more to say when Bessie hollered to us from mid-channel.
“Is that Mr. Bishop?” she yelped.
“It’s me, Miss Gorton,” says Bishop.
“I’ll be right out,” says Bess.
“Take it easy,” I says. “You mightn’t catch cold, but they’s no use riskin’ it.”
So then I and Bishop knocked the streetcar service and President Wilson and give each other the double O. He wasn’t what you could call ugly