“That evenin’ when Mike left, Danny walked to the corner saloon with him and interduced him to the proprietor, Doyle. This here Doyle was crazy about the horses, and had more respect for Danny, who was a bookmaker, than for the man that made the subway. Danny didn’t stay, though, but come home right away. He wasn’t one of them stay-out-all-nights, except when there was somethin’ special to celebrate, like makin’ a big winnin’ at the track. When he come in, he says to me:
“‘Belle,’ he says, ‘Mike ain’t such a bad feller.’
“‘There’s worse,’ I says, ‘but they’re in jail. Take it from me, Danny, the Wop is the kind that’ll meet you with a glad face and then forget that he ever looked pleasant—he’s a smile-that-won’t-stay-on feller,’ I says. ‘I like him much,’ I says; ‘about as much as you’d like doin’ the housework,’ I says.
“You see, mister, a woman’s got a’ instinct that’s wound up all the time and rings up people and things like a cash register.”
The Boarder was moved to comment.
“Woman’s intuition is a strange thing,” he said.
“I bet on mine,” she assured him, “and I don’t have to walk home much, as you might say. And when it told me the Wop’s number—which was 00—I was sure that the right record was playin’. I tried to make Danny listen to it, but he was goin’ to sleep in his chair and wanted peace. So we let the thing drop.
“One mornin’ not long after that our telephone rung, and some party ast for Mr. Doyle.
“‘You’re in the wrong pew,’ I says.
“‘Ain’t this the R party?’ says the feller talkin’, and his voice sounded familiar.