“Why, hello Kyle, you old stuttering scoundrel–have one on me–cleanses the teeth–sweetens the breath and makes hair grow on your belly!”
He laughed and when Kyle broke in:
“S-s-say, T-T-Tom, the f-f-fellows are all over in the g-g-golf l-l-links.”
“The hell they are, Kyle,” laughed the Judge. “Tell ’em to come over and have a cold one on me–Gustave, you go–”
“B-b-but they d-don’t want a drink. The p-p-poker b-b-bunch said you were here and th-th-they s-s-sent m-m-me to–”
“S-s-s-sure they d-d-did, Kyle,” interrupted Van Dorn. “They sent you to read the Declaration of Independence to-morrow and wanted you to begin now and get a g-g-good st-st-start!” He broke into song:
“Oh, there was an old man from Dundee
Who got on a hell of a spree,
Oh, he wound up the clock,
With–
“Say, Kyle,” the Judge looked up foolishly, “you didn’t know that I was a cantatrice.” He laughed and repeated the last word slowly three times and then giggled.
605“Still sober. I tell Mrs. Van Dorn that when I can say cantatrice or specification,” he repeated that word slowly, “I’m fit to hold court.”
“Oh, the keyhole in the door–
The keyhole in the door–”