“I don't either,” declared Wingate. “And I never said so. What I said was that sometimes it almost seemed as if there was somethin' IN fortune tellin' and such.”
“There is,” chuckled Bailey with another wink at the depot master. “There's money in it—for the fortune tellers.”
“I said—and I say again,” protested Barzilla, “that I knew a case at our hotel of a servant girl named Effie, and she—”
“Oh, Heavens to Betsy! Here he goes again, I steered him in here on purpose, Sol, so's he'd get off that subject.”
“You never neither. You said—”
The depot master held up his hand. “Don't both talk at once,” he commanded. “Set down and be peaceful, can't you. That's right. What about this Effie, Barzilla?”
“Now look here!” protested Stitt.
“Shut up, Bailey! Who was Effie, Barzilla?”
“She was third assistant roustabout and table girl at the Old Home House,” said Wingate triumphantly. “Got another cigar, Sol? Thanks. Yes, this Effie had never worked out afore and she was greener'n a mess of spinach; but she was kind of pretty to look at and—”
“Ah, ha!” crowed Captain Bailey, “here comes the heart confessions. Want to look out for these old bachelors, Sol. Fire away, Barzilla; let us know the worst.”