“Get out!” he interrupted.
“But I say I wasn’t——”
“Get out!”
“I’ve been insulted and——”
What could I do? I got out. When I reached my hotel I found my wife in hysterics. I comforted her as well as I could. Then I rushed off to the Los Angeles Record office and saw the editor. He only laughed.
Afterwards I saw the manager of the music-hall where I was performing. He laughed too. Then he winked slowly.
“Why didn’t you tip the cop a dollar?” he asked.
Then I understood. But, alas! the understanding came too late to be of use.