“Dr. Toodle,” says she, “was explaining to me his wonderful self healing theories.”
“And dear Violet,” says I, “was puttin’ me through a course of sprouts in the automatic toothache cure.”
“Oh, indeed!” says Sadie. “Was patting your cheek part of it?”
“I hope so,” says I.
“Huh!” says she. “I suppose it worked?”
“Like a charm,” says I. “All that bothers me now is how I can dig up another pain.”
“You might have your dear Violet see what can be done for that soft spot in your head!” she snaps. “Only next time take her off out of sight, please.”
“Oh, we’ll attend to that, all right,” says I. “This havin’ a green eyed wife buttin’ in just at the interestin’ point is something fierce!” And that’s where I spread it on too thick.
“Don’t be a chump, Shorty!” says Sadie, lettin’ loose a sudden giggle and mussin’ my hair up with both hands. It’s a way she has of gettin’ out of a corner, and she’s skipped off before I’m sure whether she’s still got a grouch, or is only lettin’ on.
By that time my appetite has come back; so I holds up the butler and has him lay out a solitaire feed. And when I goes back to the crowd again I finds Toodle has the center of the stage, with the spotlight full on him. All the women are gathered round, listening to his guff like it was sound sense. Seems he’s organized a new deal on the thought cure stunt, and he’s workin’ it for all it’s worth. The men, though, don’t appear so excited over what he’s sayin’.