Percy (producing a five-dollar bill). There you are. Now, then, is it a go?
Roam. You bet it is. But say! there ain’t no danger of a breach of promise suit in this, is there?
Percy (laughing). I hardly think so. Now, to be brief about it, all you have got to do is to say that you are Percy Heartache, the artist. You can say it to any one you meet, for that matter. But the young lady—Hattie Renwick is her name—is the party the joke is to be on. She has been corresponding with you, you know, and has thrown out her net to catch you for a husband. Do you understand?
Roam. (shaking his head). Putty well, boss. I’m Percy Heartache, the artist, an’ she’s tryin’ to nail me for a husband. Yes, that’s all right.
Percy. Well, take this note, then. It will help you out, I think.
(Hands him Hat.’s note. Roam. reads it and nods approvingly.)
Roam. I guess I can fill the bill, boss. Leave it to me. I’ll bet that young lady won’t want no artist for a husband after she’s talked to me a while. I’ll settle her matrimonial aspirations, all right. Give me that five-spot, an’ the thing will be done in fine shape.
Percy (handing him the five-dollar bill). I am sure you’ll do it right, Mr. Roamer.
Roam. (strutting about). Mr. Percy Heartache, please. There’s my name, sir! (Holds out envelope that is addressed to Percy.) I’m Percy Heartache, the artist, an’ here’s my paints an’ brushes. Artist, eh? Well, I guess!
Susan (ceasing her churning). Come, Helen, help me take the churn in the kitchen.