“Well,” says the Missus, “maybe Mr. Bishop will have the hunch.”
“He will if his hearin’ ’s good,” says I.
Bishop showed up at six-thirty, lookin’ mighty cute in his waiter uniform. After he’d came, it didn’t take Bess long to finish her toilet. I’d like to fell over when I seen her. Some doll she was, too, in a fifty-meg evenin’ dress marked down to thirty-seven. I know, because I had helped pick it out for the Missus.
“My, you look sweet!” says Bishop. “That’s a beautiful gown.”
“It’s my favoright,” says Bessie.
“It don’t take a person long to get attached to a pretty dress,” I says.
The Missus hollered for me to come in and help her.
“I don’t need no help,” she says, “but I didn’t want you givin’ no secrets away.”
“What are you goin’ to wear?” says I.
“Bess had one that just fits me,” she says. “She’s loanin’ it to me.”
“Her middle name’s Generous,” I says.
“Don’t be sarcastical,” says the Missus. “I want sis to look her best this oncet.”
“And I suppose it don’t make no difference how you look,” says I, “as long as you only got me to please. If Bishop’s friends sees him with Bessie they’ll say: ‘My! he’s copped out a big-leaguer.’ But if I run into any o’ my pals they’ll think I married the hired girl.”
“You should worry,” says the Missus.