Gullible’s Travels
I
I promised the Wife that if anybody ast me what kind of a time did I have at Palm Beach I’d say I had a swell time. And if they ast me who did we meet I’d tell ’em everybody that was worth meetin’. And if they ast me didn’t the trip cost a lot I’d say Yes; but it was worth the money. I promised her I wouldn’t spill none o’ the real details. But if you can’t break a promise you made to your own wife what kind of a promise can you break? Answer me that, Edgar.
I’m not one o’ these kind o’ people that’d keep a joke to themself just because the joke was on them. But they’s plenty of our friends that I wouldn’t have ’em hear about it for the world. I wouldn’t tell you, only I know you’re not the village gossip and won’t crack it to anybody. Not even to your own Missus, see? I don’t trust no women.
It was along last January when I and the Wife was both hit by the society bacillus. I think it was at the opera. You remember me tellin’ you about us and the Hatches goin’ to Carmen and then me takin’ my Missus and her sister, Bess, and four of one suit named Bishop to see The Three Kings? Well, I’ll own up that I enjoyed wearin’ the soup and fish and minglin’ amongst the high polloi and pretendin’ we really was somebody. And I know my wife enjoyed it, too, though they was nothin’ said between us at the time.
The next stage was where our friends wasn’t good enough for us no more. We used to be tickled to death to spend an evenin’ playin’ rummy with the Hatches. But all of a sudden they didn’t seem to be no fun in it and when Hatch’d call up we’d stall out of it. From the number o’ times I told him that I or the Missus was tired out and goin’ right to bed, he must of thought we’d got jobs as telephone linemen.
We quit attendin’ pitcher shows because the rest o’ the audience wasn’t the kind o’ people you’d care to mix with. We didn’t go over to Ben’s and dance because they wasn’t no class to the crowd there. About once a week we’d beat it to one o’ the good hotels downtown, all dressed up like a horse, and have our dinner with the rest o’ the E-light. They wasn’t nobody talked to us only the waiters, but we could look as much as we liked and it was sport tryin’ to guess the names o’ the gang at the next table.
Then we took to readin’ the society news at breakfast. It used to be that I didn’t waste time on nothin’ but the market and sportin’ pages, but now I pass ’em up and listen w’ile the Missus rattled off what was doin’ on the Lake Shore Drive.
Every little w’ile we’d see where So-and-So was at Palm Beach or just goin’ there or just comin’ back. We got to kiddin’ about it.
“Well,” I’d say, “we’d better be startin’ pretty soon or we’ll miss the best part o’ the season.”
“Yes,” the Wife’d say back, “we’d go right now if it wasn’t for all them engagements next week.”
We kidded and kidded till finally, one night, she forgot we was just kiddin’.
“You didn’t take no vacation last summer,” she says.
“No,” says I. “They wasn’t no chance to get away.”
“But you promised me,” she says, “that you’d take one this winter to make up for it.”
“I know I did,” I says; “but it’d be a sucker play to take a vacation in weather like this.”
“The weather ain’t like this everywheres,” she says.
“You must of been goin’ to night school,” I says.
“Another thing you promised me,” says she, “was that when you could afford it you’d take me on a real honeymoon trip to make up for the dinky one we had.”
“That still goes,” I says, “when I can afford it.”
“You can afford it now,” says she. “We don’t owe nothin’ and we got money in the bank.”
“Yes,” I says. “Pretty close to three hundred bucks.”
“You forgot somethin’,” she says. “You forgot them war babies.”
Did I tell you about that? Last fall I done a little dabblin’ in Crucial Steel and at this time I’m tellin’ you about I still had a hold of it, but stood to pull down six hundred. Not bad, eh?
“It’d be a mistake to let loose now,” I says.
“All right,” she says. “Hold on, and I hope you lose every cent. You never did care nothin’ for me.”
Then we done a little spoonin’ and then I ast her what was the big idear.
“We ain’t swelled on ourself,” she says; “but I know and you know that the friends we been associatin’ with ain’t in our class. They don’t know how to dress and they can’t talk about nothin’ but their goldfish and their meat bills. They don’t try to get nowheres, but
