Mr. Editor, I cannot understand this gambol. It are like golf, a game spoken in a foreign language.
Considerable pile-up of poker-chip was enjoyed while one man say “I see you!” yet look other way. They set for long lateness gossiping about Aunty amidst click-click noise. It seem very tame exercise, less cruel than feetballing, but more expensive.
By one a.m. time my eyes got hypnotized from watching this straight-flushing amusement, so I retired my head on chair and slept away.
At 3 a.m. by clockwork, I awoke upwards with basso quartet retreating off with song-sing entitled “Good-night, Lady!” Yet I could not see her.
Next morning 8 a.m. Hon. Boss Man say he no care for breakfast in dining-room because it make him feel destitute. So he took egg and coffee in kitchen. He say he would be home indefinitely, so he depart off for office seeming entirely unmarried.
I took look at the appearance of that bachelor parlor. Considerable rumpage was observed there. Quite several cigars had remained where they dropped and 26 bottles stood by gas-log looking quite vacant. Portraits of dogs & glee-clubs hung on wall in unequal position, resembling sea-storm.
What must I do with this room? I think Hon. Boss had told me whether Bachelor Hall should ever be clean. Maybe not. It certainly look less ladylike than ever in this deranged condition. Perhapsly Hon. Boss should be entirely enraged if I attemp to broom & dust this compartment he had took so much pains to masculify.
So I set by table, lit slight cigar, and read pugilist paper while upturning my feet. As thusly I reclined I did not hear something coming in front door.
“O!!!**??”
I peek upward. There stood Hon. Mrs. looking less peaceful than hornets.