five iron men to have you bored to death.”
“You got me wrong,” says Bishop. “The piece was gave by a bunch o’ supers the time I went. I’d like to see it with a real cast. They say it’s a whiz when it’s acted right.”
“There!” says the Missus. “That settles it. You can change the tickets tomorrow.”
So I was stopped and they wasn’t no more to say, and after a w’ile we had dinner and then I seen why Bishop was so skinny. ’Parently he hadn’t tasted fodder before for a couple o’ mont’s.
“It must keep you busy writin’ them scenarios,” I says. “No time to eat or nothin’.”
“Oh, I eat oncet in a w’ile even if I don’t look it,” he says. “I don’t often get a chance at food that’s cooked like this. Your wife’s some dandy little cook!”
“It runs in the family, I guess,” says Bessie. “You’d ought to taste my cookin’.”
“Maybe he will some day,” says the Missus, and then her and Bessie pretended like they’d made a break and was embarrassed.
So when he was through I says:
“Leave Bess take Bishop out in the kitchen and show him how she can wash dishes.”
“Nothin’ doin’,” says the Wife. “I’m goin’ to stack them and then I and you’s got to hurry and keep our date.”
“What date?” I says.
“Over to Hatch’s,” says the Missus. “You hadn’t forgotten, had you?”