“Is that the man?” he says, choking up. “Was HE sweet on Mabel?”
“Sweeter'n a molasses stopper,” says I. “But he's going away in a day or so. You don't need to worry.”
He commenced to laugh, and I thought he'd never stop.
“What's the joke?” I asks, after a year or so of this foolishness. “Let me in, won't you? Thought you wa'n't funny to-night.”
He stopped long enough to ask one more question. “Tell me, for the Lord's sake!” says he. “Did she know who he was?”
“Sartin,” says I. “So did every other woman round the place. You'd think so if—”
He walked off then, laughing himself into a fit. “Good night, old man,” he says, between spasms. “See you later. No, I don't think I shall worry much.”
If he hadn't been so big I cal'lated I'd have risked a kick. A man hates to be made a fool of and not know why.
A whole lot of the boarders had gone on the evening train, and at our house Van Wedderburn was the only one left. He and Mabel and me was the full crew at the breakfast-table the follering morning. The fruit season was a quiet one. I done all the talking there was; every time the broker and the housekeeper looked at each other they turned red.
Finally 'twas “chopped-hay” time, and in comes the waiter with the tray. And again we had a surprise, just like the one back in July. Percy wa'n't on hand, and Jonesy was.