"It must be a gigantic thing when the Captain comes home late at night, from the lodge, you know, falls through the kitchen window into a pan of dishes, and after stumbling up stairs goes to bed with his boots on?" the reporter insinuated, as he looked sorrowfully at the giantess.
"Oh, he never does that," said the lady; and after a minute she added, "and he'd better not."
The giantess looked knowingly at the giant who looked down at the floor. My thoughts wreathed themselves fondly around the Yosemite-tree rolling-pin, and I guess Capt. Bates's thoughts were turned in the same direction.
"Nobody ever dares to write billet-doux to Mrs. Bates," said the reporter. "I suppose you know circus and theatrical people are subject to that sort of thing."
"Not any body that I know of," the Captain answered.
"And I suppose if anybody did they wouldn't care about having you know it, either?" said the little Evening Post man.
GIANTESS.
GIANT.