"Oh, woman in our hours of ease,
Un-something, something, something, please.
When tiddly-umpty umpty brow,
A something, something, something, thou!"
He had forgotten the exact words, but the gist of it had been that woman, however she might treat a man in times of prosperity, could be relied on to rally round and do the right thing when he was in trouble. How little the poet had known women.
"Why not?" he said huffily.
She gave a little sob.
"I put you on a pedestal and I find you have feet of clay. You have blurred the image which I formed of you. I can never think of you again without picturing you as you stood in that saloon, stammering and helpless…."
"Well, what can you do when your pianist runs out on you?"
"You could have done something. I can't forgive a man for looking ridiculous. Oh, what, what," she cried, "induced you to try to give an imitation of Bert Williams?"
Sam started, stung to the quick.
"It wasn't Bert Williams. It was Frank Tinney!"
"Well, how was I to know?"