Mr. Sloan (reads).—“Parker Hall.”
(A long silence.)
Mr. Hall (faintly).—Oh, lord, she rounded us up, didn’t she? Say, Parker, can’t this thing be suppressed, somehow?
Mr. Sloan.—It’s in the evening paper.
(Another long silence.)
Mr. Hall (desperately).—Come out and have a bottle with me?
Mr. Sloan.—I can’t. I’m going down to Bitts’s stable to buy that pony that Mrs. Sloan took such a shine to a month or so ago.
Mr. Hall.—If I could get out of this for a pony—Oh, lord!
