XVIII
PLAYING WILBUR TO SHOW
It's all right. You can put the Teddy sign on anything you read in the papers about matrimony's bein' a lost art, and collectin' affinities bein' the latest fad; for the plain, straight, old, love-honour-and-cherish business is still in the ring. I have Pinckney's word for it, and Pinckney ought to know. Oh, yes, he's an authority now. Sure, it was Miss Gerty, the twin tamer. And say, what do you suppose they did with that gift pair of terrors, Jack and Jill, while they was makin' the weddin' tour? Took 'em along. Honest, they travels for ten weeks with two kids, five trunks, and a couple of maids.
"You don't look like no honeymoon couple," says I, when I meets 'em in Jersey City. "I'd take you for an explorin' party."
"We are," says Pinckney, grinnin'. "We've been explorin' the western part of the United States. We have discovered Colorado Springs, the Yosemite, and a lot more very interesting places, all over again."
"You'll be makin' a new map, I expect," says I.
"It would be new to most New Yorkers," says he.
And I've been tryin' ever since to figure out whether or no that's a knock. Now and then I has a suspicion that Pinckney's acquired some new bug since he's been out through the alfalfa belt; but maybe his idea of the West's bein' such a great place only comes from the fact that Gerty was produced there. Perhaps it's all he says too; but I notice he seems mighty glad to get back to Main-st., N. Y. You'd thought so if you'd seen the way he trails me around over town the first day after he lands. We was on the go from noon until one A. M., and his cab bill must have split a twenty up fine.
What tickles me, though, is that he's the same old Pinckney, only more so. Bein' married don't seem to weigh no heavier on his mind than joinin' another club. So, instead of me losin' track of him altogether, he shows up here at the Studio oftener than before. And that's how it was he happens to be on hand when this overgrown party from the ham orchard blows in.