"Yes," I says; "a man's liable to do most anything when he's starvin' to death."
The Messengers and Collinses was a little ways ahead of us on the stairs and I wanted we should hurry and catch up with 'em.
"You let 'em go!" says the Missus. "You've spoiled everything now without doin' nothin' more. Every time you talk you insult somebody."
"I ain't goin' to insult them," I says. "I'm just goin' to ask 'em to go down to the corner and have a drink."
"You are not!" she says.
But she's just as good a prophet as she is a bridge player. They wouldn't go along, though, sayin' it was late and they wanted to get to bed.
"Well, if you won't, you won't," says I. "We'll see you all a week from to-night. And don't forget, Mrs. Collins, that I'm responsible for you winnin' that chafin'-dish, and I'm fond o' welsh rabbits."
I was glad that we didn't have to go far to our buildin'. The Missus was pleasant company, just like a bloodhound with the rabies. I left her in the vestibule and went down to help Mike close up. He likes to be amongst friends at a sad hour like that.
At breakfast the next mornin' the Wife was more calm.
"Dearie," she says, "they don't neither one of us class as bridge experts. I'll admit I got a lot to learn about the game. What we want to do is play with the Hatches every evenin' this week, and maybe by next Tuesday night we'll know somethin'."