Gee! A dollar a day
for keeping your nails tuned up--and I ain't sure he don't have 'em done
twice on Sundays. Mine ain't never had a file teched to 'em yet,' he
says. 'I see that,' I says. 'If any foul-minded person ever accuses you
of it, you got abundant proofs of your innocence right there with you.
As for Chester,' I says, 'he has an object.' 'He has,' says Buck. 'Not
what you think,' I says. 'Very different from that. It's true,' I
concedes, 'that he ought to take that money and go to some good
osteopath and have his head treated, but he's all right at that. Don't
you set up nights worrying about it.' And I sent Buck slinking off
shamefaced but unconvinced, I could see. But I wasn't a bit scared.
"Chet et supper with us the night of the concert and took Nettie and I
to the hall, and you bet I wedged them two close in next each other when
we got to our seats. This was my star play. If they didn't fall for each
other now--Shucks! They had to. And I noticed they was more confidential
already, with Nettie looking at him sometimes almost respectfully.
"Well, the concert went fine, with the hired lady professional singer
giving us some operatic gems in various foreign languages in the first
part, and Ed Bughalter singing "A King of the Desert Am I, Ha, Ha!" very
bass--Ed always sounds to me like moving heavy furniture round that
ain't got any casters under it--and Mrs.
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