When morning came to Granville, Mr. Pottle waked his wife by gently, playfully, fanning her pink and white cheek with three bills of a large denomination.
"Blossom," he said, and the smile of his early courting days had come back, "you were right. Violet was a one man dog. I just found the man."
V: Mr. Pottle and Pageantry
§1
"He wouldn't give a cent," announced Mrs. Pottle, blotting up the nucleus of a tear on her cheek with the tip of her gloved finger. "'Not one red cent,' was the way he put it."
"What did you want a red cent for, honey?" inquired Mr. Pottle, absently, from out the depths of the sporting page. "Who wouldn't give you a red cent?"
"Old Felix Winterbottom," she answered.