“'The boy died when he was eight. We were in Cairo. We hurried back to Paris. Mr. Higginbottom was nevah the same after that. I nevah could get him out of Paris again. He died there.
“'My next husband was the dearest and best man that evah did live. I met him here in Paris. His name was Horton. Weighed three hundred and fifty pounds. Some man! I says to myself: Now here's a man that'll las' me as long as I live. He drank too much, but I soon cured him o' that. He gave it up entirely an' our weddin' tour lasted 'til he died.'
“'Perhaps it wore him out,' I suggested.
“'No, he liked it and we were just as happy as two turtle doves. When I asked him to do anything, he would always say: “Well, Baby, you know best.”'
“'But he couldn't walk much. Weight was his great weakness. If you were jus' to think of him as a husband he was a little heavy; but no man is perfect.'
“'We had a big limousine an' he toted me around in that an' hired a maid to climb stairs an' go to the churches an' theaters an' art galleries with me.'
“'My daughtah had married an' settled in Chicago. One Decembah we thought it would be nice to go and spend Christmas with her. I just thought I'd stop beating around and get acquainted with my own family. We left Paris on the tenth and reached Chicago on the twenty-second. I called my daughtah on the telephone from our hotel.'
“'"My goodness! Is that you?” she said.
“'"Yes,” I said, “we have come all the way from Paris to spend Christmas with you.”
“'I'm awfully sorry, mothah,” she says. “The house will be full Christmas Day, but we'll have you for New Yeah's.”