“And besides that,” I says, “if you succeed in tyin’ Bishop up to a long-term lease he’s bound to see that there dress on you some time and then what’ll he think?”
“Bess can keep the gown,” says the Missus. “I’ll make her give me one of her’n for it.”
“With your tradin’ ability,” I says, “you’d ought to be the Cincinnati Reds’ manager. But if you do give the dress to her,” I says, “warn her not to wear it in Wabash—except when the marshal’s over on the other street.”
Well, we was ready in a few minutes, because I’m gettin’ used to the soup and fish, and everything went on easy owin’ to my vacuum, and I was too weak to shave; and the Missus didn’t have no trouble with Bessie’s creation, which was built like the Cottage Grove cars, enter at front.
“I don’t think I’m so bad,” says the Missus, lookin’ in the glass.
“You’d be just right,” I says, “if we was goin’ to the annual meetin’ o’ the Woman’s Guild.”
I and Bishop had a race gettin’ on the streetcar. I was first and he won.
“I just got paid today,” he says, “and I didn’t have time to get change.”
They wasn’t only one seat. Bess took it first and then offered it to the Missus.
“I’ll be mad at you if you don’t take it,” says Bess.
But the wife remained standin’ and Bessie by a great effort kept her temper.
Goin’ into the theayter we passed a fella that was sellin’ liberettos.
“I bet this guy’s got lots o’ change,” I says.