“Well, there’s more still, ain’t there?” says I.
“Brilliant observation, Shorty,” says he, “also logical and pertinent. Yes, there are several others still untried by the twins.”
“What you howlin’ about, then?” says I.
“Because,” says he, toyin’ with the silver frame that holds the bill of fare, “because it is not my intention to demoralize all the educational institutions of this city in alphabetical order.”
“G’wan!” says I. “The kids have got to be educated somewhere, haven’t they?”
“Which is the sad part of it,” says Pinckney, inspectin’ the dish of scrambled eggs and asparagus tips and wavin’ the waiter to do the serving himself. “It means,” he goes on, “having a governess around the house, and you know what nuisances they can be.”
“Do I?” says I. “The nearest I ever got to havin’ a governess was when Mrs. O’Grady from next door used to come in to use our wash-tubs and I was left with her for the day. Nobody ever called her a nuisance and got away with it.”
“What an idyllic youth to look back upon!” says he. “I can remember half a dozen, at least, who had a hand in directing the course of my budding intellect, and each one of them developed some peculiarity which complicated the domestic situation. I am wondering what this new governess of ours will contribute.”
“Got one on the job already, eh?” says I.
“This is her third day,” says he, “and if she manages to live through it with the twins, I shall have hope.”