“That’s why you have a couple of glasses and a whiskey bottle on the table in the evening?”
“Yes.”
“Then a man is useful,” said I, “as far as his hat is concerned?”
She winked her crooked eyes at me and she said, “Yes, so long as there isn’t a head inside of it.”
I laughed. “Then really,” I concluded, “you do hate men?”
“I suppose I do,” said she.
“Why?”
I thought I was going to hear of her little romance with its pitiable ending.
But no, she merely shrugged her shoulders, stuck an old tam-o’-shanter on her head, and went out to see if the gardener was doing his fair share of work.