George, a fair-haired boy, thought of his girl-friend. When he wasn’t busy his mind dwelt on her, when it wasn’t dwelling on how he could make more money. George was a simple hick. He was like thousands of other guys. Two things came uppermost, his girl and money.
Hank, his fellow attendant, lolled across the table. “What’s bitin’ you, pal?” he asked. “You been lookin’ like a bad dream for a coupla hours.”
George heaved a sigh. “Say, you know Edie… What you think’s the matter with her?”
Hank scratched his head. “How the hell should I know what’s the matter with her?” he said impatiently. “She ain’t wearin’ the bustle wrong?”
George shook his head. “Not a chance,” he said gloomily. “Maybe we’d get married if it was like that.”
“Then what’s biting you?”
“She keeps away from me now… she’s cooled off. Now what you think’s come over her?”
Hank said with a sudden rush of inspiration, “Suppose you try this soap they’re always croakin’ about.”
George scowled. “Don’t you start to rib me,” he said coldly. “I guess it’s the dough that’s the trouble. Edie was always keen to have dough. I ain’t had a raise for two years now. I guess that’s what’s makin’ her sore.”
Hank said, “It’d be nice to own a joint like this, wouldn’t it?” He wandered over to the cash register and rang up “No Sale”. He peered into the drawer, poking the money round with his finger. “I figger we take five hundred bucks a day here.”