“The feller all dressed up an' walkin' with the lady. Sure it is! Hi, Curly, hel-lo! It's Babe. Well, ain't I glad—”
The woman with Curly fixed Babe with a stony glare. “If you wish to converse with this... woman, kindly do so when your wife is not accompanying you,” she said to him in an angry undertone, and went majestically on.
“I'll come back, Babe. We've been married just a month and she doesn't understand. I'll be back later,” and he hurried off.
“Bet, did you see who that was with Curly? His wife, he said.”
“Aw-w, Babe, don't you fret! I guess we fill our little place out here in Californy near as much as some o' the fine ladies do.”
“I didn't care. No, I was thinkin' that the ways o' the Lord are curious. That lady used to be married to George Spellman.”
“An' Curly shot him, down at Sonora, last year!”
“Ye-aw.”
“Well, I'll be—.”