A Fool and His Money

by George Barr McCutcheon

"I've changed my opinion."

"By Jove, Mr. Smart, I—I don't know how the Countess will take such high-handed—ahem! You see, sir, she—she was good enough to recommend them to me. It will be quite a shock to—"

"By the Lord Harry, Fred, am I to—"

"Don't misunderstand me," he made haste to say. "This is your house. You have a perfect right to hire and discharge, but—but—Don't you think you'd better consider very carefully—" He seemed to be finding his collar rather tight.

I held up my hand. "Of course I do not care to offend the Countess Tarnowsy. It was very kind of her to recommend them. We—we will let the matter rest for a few days."

"She has informed me that you were especially pleased with the manner in which they served the dinner the other night. I think she said you regarded them as incomparable diadems, or something of the sort. It may have been the champagne."

My thoughts leaped backward to that wonderful dinner. "It wasn't the champagne," said I, very stiffly.

"Do you also contemplate giving notice to the chef and his wife, our only chambermaid?"

"No, I don't," I snapped. "I think they were in bed."

He looked at me as if he thought I had gone crazy. I wriggled uncomfortably in my chair for a second or two, and then abruptly announced that we'd better get to work. I have never ceased to wonder what construction he could have put on that stupid slip of the tongue.