“Thank you, I believe I will,” said Jiggs, reaching for the hotel stationery. He hastily scribbled a note, left it, sans envelope, at the desk, and took his departure.
About an hour later a large, overbearing woman of the superdreadnought type steamed majestically to the desk, a small and timid-looking individual in her wake. After taking the mail that had accumulated in the box she stalked imposingly to the elevator, accompanied by the timid person, who, by his conduct, appeared to be her husband.
When the couple got to their room Mrs. George Jones sat down and scanned the family mail. As she read, the colour flooded her expansive face like a sunset, then receded, leaving her chalky white with rage. Her unfortunate spouse cowered in a corner.
Rising to her feet in all the majesty of her five-feet-eleven, she thrust a note into Jones’s hand. “Read that!” she commanded hoarsely.
With amazement and fear alternately expressed in his weak countenance, Jones read the following:
“Dear George:
Why don’t you let me know when you get to town? I expected you yesterday. Call me up, the same old number, and we will have a time to-night.
“Yours as ever,
“Mary.”
“You roué!” stormed Mrs. Jones. “I shall institute divorce proceedings immediately. To think you have been leading a double life! You may expect a visit from my lawyer!” The door slammed behind her as Jones sank dazedly into a chair.