That's enough for me. Just from that I can sketch the whole plot. And it don't take me a month to figure out the line of talk I'm goin' to use. What's the sense in playin' for time when your blue ticket's all made out.
"Heard you?" says I. "Think I wear my ears full of putty?"
"Huh!" he grunts. "And do I understand that you disapprove of my profanity?"
"Ah, who's been fillin' you up?" says I. "Why, you're an artist at it."
"Thanks," says he. "And I suppose you felt it your duty to inform my relatives of the fact? Very thoughtful of you, I'm sure."
"Don't mention it," says I.
"You—you're an impertinent young whelp!" says he, his cheeks gettin' purple and puffy.
"Ah, don't mind the frills," says I. "Get out the can. I'm fired, ain't I?"
"No!" he shouts, bangin' his fist down on the desk. "At least, not until I get through with you. What I want to know is why in blue belted blazes you did it!"
"Well," says I, "first off I guess it just naturally slipped out; then, when I saw what a hit I was makin' with Martha—why, I expect I sort of enjoyed givin' her the details."