"When? How much?" she says.
"One at a time, please," says I. "The amount o' the cash transaction was a twenty-dollar gold certificate. And the time he shook me down was the evenin' he took us to hear Ada, and was supposed to be payin' for it."
"I can't believe it," says the Missus.
"All right," I says. "When he brings Bessie home from the ball game to-morrow I'll put it up to him right in front o' you."
"No! You mustn't do that!" she says. "I won't have him insulted."
"You would have him insulted if I knowed how to go about it," I says.
"You stayed over to Tim's too long," says the Wife.
"Yes," says I, "and I made arrangements to stay over there every time Bishop comes here."
"Suit yourself," she says, and pretended like she was asleep.
Well, the next mornin' I got to thinkin' over what I'd said and wonderin' if I'd went too strong. But I couldn't see where. This bird was a dude that had got acquainted with Bessie on the train when she was on her way here to visit us last winter. He'd infested the house all the while she was with us. He'd gave us that ten-thousand-dollar yarn and told us he made it by writin' movin'-pitcher plays, but we never seen none o' them advertised and never run into anybody that had heard of him.