"Well, I got even with that Wales outfit just before
daylight--that's all!"
"Talk on," I beg, quite incredulous.
"I didn't get to bed till about two," he says, "and at three I was woke
up by the telephone. It's this big stiff Len Wales, that had ought to
have his head taken off because it only absorbs nourishment from his
system and gives nothing in return. He's laughing in a childish frenzy
and says is this me? I says it is, but that's neither here nor there,
and what does he want at this hour? 'It's a good joke on you,' he says,
'for the little woman got it on the third trial.' 'Got what?' I wanted
to know. 'Got that solitaire,' he yells. 'And it's a good joke on you,
all right, because now you owe her the thousand dollars; and I hate to
bother you, but you know how some women are that have a delicate,
high-strung organization. She says she won't be able to sleep a wink if
you don't bring it up to her so she can have all our little treasure
under her pillow; and I think, myself, it's better to have it all
settled and satisfactory while the iron's hot, and you'd probably prefer
it that way, too; and she says she won't mind, this time, taking your
check, though the actual money would be far more satisfactory, because
you know what women are--"
"Say! He raves on like this for three minutes, stopping to laugh like a
maniac about every three words, before I can get a word in to tell him
that I'm a delicate, high-strung organization myself, if you come right
down to it, and I can't stand there in my nightgown listening to a
string of nonsense.
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