"Hello, baby! Did you wait up for your old man?"
Goldie regarded her husband with eyes that ten months of marriage had dimmed slightly. Her lips were thinner and tighter and silent.
"I think we landed a sucker to-night for fifty shares, kiddo. Ain't so bad, is it? And so you waited up for your tired old man, baby?"
"No!" she said, the words sparking from her lips like the hiss of a hot iron when you test it with a moist forefinger. "No; I didn't wait up. I been out with you—painting the town."
"I couldn't get home for supper, hon. Me and Cutty—"
"You and Cutty! I wasn't born yesterday!"
"Me and Cutty had a sucker out, baby. He'll bite for fifty shares sure!"
"Gee!" she flamed at him, backing round the rocker from his amorous advances. "Gee! If I was low enough to be a crook—if I was low enough to try and make a livin' sellin' dead dirt for pay dirt—I'd be a successful crook, anyway; I'd—"
"Now, Goldie, hon! Don't—"
"I wouldn't leave my wife havin' heart failure every time McCasky passes the door—I wouldn't!"