“That’s a laugh,” he said. “I paid two thousand for that rug.”
“The guy that sold it had the laugh,” I says.
Finally he steered us into his bedroom.
“Do you see that bed?” he says. “That’s Marie Antoinette’s bed. Just a cool thousand.”
“What time does she usually get in?” I asked him.
“Here’s my hobby,” he said, opening up a closet, “dressing gowns and bathrobes.”
Well, they was at least a dozen of them hanging on hangers. They was all colors of the rainbow including the Scandinavian. He dragged one down that was redder than Ella’s and Katie’s cheeks.
“This is my favorite bathrobe,” he said. “It’s Rose D. Barry.”
So I asked him if he had all his household goods and garments named after some dame.
“This bathrobe cost me an even two hundred,” he says.
“I always take baths bare,” I said. “It’s a whole lot cheaper.”
“Let’s go back in the living room,” says Katie.
“Come on,” said Ella, tugging me by the sleeve.
“Wait a minute,” I says to her. “I don’t know how much he paid for his toothbrush.”
Well, when we got back in the living room, the two gals acted kind of drowsy and snuggled up together on the davenport and I and the old bird was left to ourself.
“Here’s another thing I didn’t show you,” he says, and pulls a pair of African golf balls out of a drawer in his desk. “These dice is real ivory and they cost me twelve and a half berries.”
“You mean up to now,” I said.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll make it a twenty-five dollar limit.”
Well, I didn’t have no business in a game with him, but you know how a guy gets sometimes. So he took them first and rolled a four.
“Listen,” I says: “Do you know how many times Willard set down in the first round?”
And sure enough he sevened.
“Now solid ivory dice,” I said, “how many days in the week?”
So out come a natural. And as sure as I’m setting here, I made four straight passes with the whole roll riding each time and with all that wad parked on the two thousand dollar rug, I shot a five and a three. “Ivory,” I said, “we was invited here tonight, so don’t make me pay for the entertainment. Show me eighter from Decatur.”
And the lady from Decatur showed.
Just then they was a stir on the davenport, and Ella woke up long enough to make the remark that we ought to go home. It was the first time she ever said it in the right place.
“Oh,” I says, “I’ve got to give Mr. Trumbull a chance to get even.”
But I wasn’t in earnest.
“Don’t bother about that,” said Old Noah. “You can accommodate me some other time.”
“You’re certainly a sport,” I says.
“And thanks for a wonderful time,” said Ella. “I hope we’ll see you again soon.”
“Soon is tomorrow night,” said mine host. “I’m going to take you all up the river to a place I know.”
“Well,” I says to Katie, when we was acrost the hall and the door shut, “how do you like him?”
“Oh, shut up!” says Katie.
So the next night he come over and rung our bell and said Ritchey was waiting with the car and would we come down when we was ready. Well, the gals had only had all day to prepare for the trip, so in another half hour they had their wraps on and we went downstairs. They wasn’t nothing in front but a Rools-Royce with a livery chauffeur that looked like he’d been put there by a rubber stamp.
“What a stunning driver!” said Katie when we’d parked ourself in the back seat.
“Ritchey?” says mine host. “He is a nice looking boy, but better than that, he’s a boy I can trust.”
Well, anyway, the boy he could trust took us out to a joint called the Indian Inn where you wouldn’t of never knew they was an eighteenth amendment only that the proprietor was asking twenty berries a quart for stuff that used to cost four. But that didn’t seem to bother Methuselah and he ordered two of them. Not only that but he got us a table so close to the orchestra that the cornet player thought we was his mute.
“Now, what’ll we eat?” he says.
So I looked at the program and the first item I seen was “Guinea Hen, $4.50.”
“That’s what Katie’ll want,” I says to myself, and sure enough that’s what she got.
Well, we eat and then we danced and we danced and we danced, and finally along about eleven I and Ella was out on the floor pretending like we was enjoying ourself, and we happened to look over to the table and there was Katie and Trumbull setting one out and to look at either you could tell that something was wrong.
“Dance the next one with her,” says Ella, “and find out what’s the matter.”
So I danced the next one with Katie and asked her.
“He squeezed my hand,” she says. “I don’t like him.”
“Well,” said I, “if you’d of ordered guinea hen on me I wouldn’t of stopped at your hand. I’d of went at your throat.”
“I’ve got a headache,” she says. “Take me out to the car.”
So they was nothing to it but I had to take her out to the car and come back and tell Ella and Trumbull that she wasn’t feeling any too good and wanted to go home.
“She don’t like me,” says the old guy. “That’s the whole trouble.”
“Give her time,” says Ella. “Remember she’s just a kid.”
“Yes, but what a kid!” he says.
So then he paid the check without no competition and we went out and clumb in the big limmie. Katie was pretending like she was asleep and neither Ella or Trumbull acted like they wanted to talk, so the conversation on the way home was mostly one-sided, with me in the title role. Katie went in the apartment without even thanking mine host for the guinea hen, but he kept Ella and I outside long
