"See here, my man," he protested, "this sort of thing won't do."
"What business is it of yours, I'd like to know," snarled the man, turning from his wife.
"It's only my business in so far as I can be of help in settling this dispute," answered the Samaritan mildly.
"This ain't no dispute," growled the man.
"No dispute! But, my dear friend—"
"I tell you it ain't no dispute," insisted the man. "She"—jerking his thumb toward the woman—"thinks she ain't goin to get my week's wages, and I know darn well she ain't. Where's the dispute in that?"
HIS BETTER HALF—"I think it's time we got Lizzie married and settled down, Alfred. She will be twenty-eight next week you know."
HER LESSER HALF—"Oh, don't hurry, my dear. Better wait till the right sort of man comes along."
HIS BETTER HALF—"But why wait? I didn't!"