“Wouldn’t a fat club sandwich with chicken, lettuce, thin bacon and mayonnaise dressing—”
“Hush!” Toomey exploded savagely. “If you say that again I’ll dress and go out and rob a hen roost!”
Mrs. Toomey suggested hopefully:
“Perhaps if you light the lamp, and smoke, it will take your mind off your stomach.”
“I surmise that’s all there is on it.” Toomey lighted the lamp on the table beside the bed and looked at the clock on the bureau.
“Hours yet, my love, before I can gorge myself on a shredded wheat biscuit.”
Mrs. Toomey braided a wisp of hair to an infinitesimal end and said firmly:
“Jap, we’ve simply got to do something! Can’t you borrow?”
“Borrow! I couldn’t throw a rock inside the city limits without hitting some one to whom I owe money. Come again, Old Dear,” mockingly.
“Wouldn’t Mormon Joe—”