"Say, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "is old Parkinson, the hotel man, cal'latin' to get married again? I see him out ridin' with a girl yesterday? That female screen drummer—that Georgianna Lentz, 'twas. She's a daisy, ain't she! I don't blame him much for takin' a shine to her."
Jim Henry didn't make any answer; but, knowin' what I did, I was a little surprised.
"Jim," says I, "that contract—"
"D—n the contract!" says he, and cleared out and left us.
I was astonished, but I guessed 'twas a healthy plan to keep my hatches closed.
When I opened the mail a few mornin's later I found a letter with the West Ostable Hotel's name printed on the envelope. I figgered I knew what was inside. Thinks I: "Here's the acceptance of our bid!" But my figgers was on the wrong side of the ledger. Parkinson wrote just a few words, but they was enough. After considerin' the matter careful, he wrote, he had decided the Eureka to be a better screen than the Nonesuch; and, though our bid was a trifle lower, he should give the Eureka folks the contract.
"Well!" says I out loud. "Well, I'll—be—blessed!"
Jim Henry was settin' at his desk—we was all alone in the store—and he looked up.
"What are you askin' a blessin' over?" says he.
I handed him the letter. He read it through and set for a full minute without speakin'. Then he slammed it into the wastebasket and got up and started to go away.