“I’m far too considerate of my relatives for that,” says Pinckney. “There’s a train at five-thirty-six.”
And, say, to see Mrs. Truckles now, with her gray hair showin’ natural, and her chin up, and a twin hangin’ to either hand, and the sleuthy look gone out of them old eyes, you’d hardly know her for the same party!
These antelope leaps is all right sometimes; but when you take ’em you want to be wearin’ your own shoes.
CHAPTER XIII
HEINEY TAKES THE GLOOM CURE
Two in one day, mind you. It just goes to show what effect the first dose of hot weather is liable to have on the custard heads. Well, maybe I oughtn’t to call ’em that, either. They can’t seem to help gettin’ that way, any more’n other folks can dodge havin’ bad dreams, or boils on the neck. And I ain’t any mind specialist; so when it comes to sayin’ what’ll soften up a man’s brain, or whether he couldn’t sidestep it if he tried, I passes the make.
Now look at this dippy move of Mr. Jarvis’s. Guess you don’t remember him. I’d ’most forgot him myself, it’s so long since he was around; but he’s the young chap that owns that big Blenmont place, the gent that Swifty and I helped out with the fake match when he——Well, never mind that yarn. He got the girl, all right; and as he had everything else anybody could think of, it should have been a case of lockin’ trouble on the outside and takin’ joy for a permanent boarder.
But there the other mornin’, just as I was havin’ a breathin’ spell after hammerin’ some surplus ego out of a young society sport that had the idea he could box, the studio door opens, and in pokes this Mr. Jarvis, actin’ like he’d been doped.