"O, I suppose this is Miserable," he said. "I can see a very poor
Month ahead of me--yes--not. Me wearing all my Bells and taking a
Hurdle every Furlong."
He rushed in to the Telegraph Office and sent a Wire to her, so that
it would catch her at the first Station up the Road. It said not to
worry and to take a Good Rest and everything was moving along about
the same as usual. With Love and Kisses.
After which he went over to the Brewery to see if they would make a
Reduction on Wholesale Orders.
Hubby went up street with his Straw dipped down in Front, the same as
the College Rakes wear them, and his Coat was thrown wide open to show
the dizzy Pleats. His Cuban Blood was all het up and he told himself
that he was 19 years old and never had a Home.
Oh, but he was Nifty. He was out of the Corral and into the Red Clover
and nix any Halter and Box Stall for him. At least not for a Month.
It happened that he had the usual number of disreputable Friends.
They were All Right, but he did not dare to have them up to the House,
because Angel-Face had investigated them and returned True Bills.
They were a little too Gamey for Presbyterian Circles, but they fitted
right in at any Function where every man takes off his Coat.
Husband began to use the Telephone, and in the course of an Hour he
had organized a Pirate Crew that would go as far as you like at any
Game from Pitch-and-Toss to Manslaughter.
For when a decent Married Man does start out to find something
different from the calm Joys of connubing in a Side Street, he is the
Village Limit.
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