"I'm sorry, but I got engagements every night except Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday."
"What about Tuesday?" ast Bessie.
"We're goin' to the op'ra," I says.
"Oh, won't that be grand!" says Bessie. "I wonder what I can wear."
"A kimono'll be all right," I says. "If the door-bell rings, you don't have to answer it."
"What do you mean?" says the Missus. "I guess if we go, Bess'll go with us."
"You'd starve to death if you guessed for a livin'," I says.
"Never mind that kind o' talk," says the Missus. "When we got a visitor we're not goin' out places nights and leave her here alone."
"What's the matter with Bishop?" I says. "They's lots o' two-handed card games."
"I ain't goin' to force myself on to you," says Bessie. "You don't have to take me nowheres if you don't want to."
"I wisht you'd put that in writin' in case of a lawsuit," I says.
"Listen here," says the Frau. "Get this straight: Either Bess goes or I don't go."
"You can both stay home," says I. "I don't anticipate no trouble findin' a partner."
"All right, that's settled," says the Missus. "We'll have a party of our own."
And it must of been goin' to be a dandy, because just speakin' about it made her cry. So I says:
"You win! But I'll prob'ly have to change the tickets."
"What kind o' tickets have you got?" ast the Missus.
"Cheap ones," I says. "Down-stairs, five per."
"How grand!" says Bessie.
"Yes," I says, "but I'm afraid I got the last two they had. I'll prob'ly have to give them back and take three balcony seats."
"That's all right, just so's Bess goes," says the Wife.
"Mr. Bishop's wild about music," says Bessie.
"Well," I says, "he prob'ly gets passes to the pitcher houses."
"He don't hear no real music there," says Bessie.
"Well," says I, "suppose when he comes to-morrow, I mention somethin' about I and the Missus havin' tickets to the op'ra Tuesday night. Then, if he's so wild about music, he'll maybe try to horn into the party and split the expenses fifty-fifty."
"That'd be a fine thing!" says the Frau. "He'd think we was a bunch o' cheap skates. Come right out and ask him to go at your expense, or else don't ask him at all."
"I won't ask him at all," I says. "It was a mistake for me to ever suggest it."
"Yes," says Bessie, "but after makin' the suggestion it would be a mean trick to not go through with it."
"Why?" I ast her. "He won't never know the difference."
"But I will," says Bessie.
"Course you would, dear," says the Missus. "After thinkin' you was goin' to have a man of your own, the party wouldn't seem like no party if you just went along with us."
"All right, all right," I says. "Let's not argue no more. Every time I open my head it costs three dollars."
"No such a thing," says the Missus. "The whole business won't only be two dollars more than you figured on. The tickets you had for the two of us would come to ten dollars, and with Bess and Mr. Bishop goin' it's only twelve, if you get balcony seats."
"I wonder," says Bessie, "if Mr. Bishop wouldn't object to settin' in the balcony."
"Maybe he would," says the Missus.
"Well," I says, "if he gets dizzy and falls over the railin' they's plenty of ushers to point out where he come from."
"They ain't no danger of him gettin' dizzy," says Bessie. "The only thing is that he's prob'ly used to settin' in the high-priced seats and would be embarrassed amongst the riff and raff."
"He can wear a false mustache for a disguise."
"He's got a real one," says Bessie.
"He can shave it off, then," says I.
"I wouldn't have him do that for the world," says Bessie. "It's too nice a one."
"You can't judge a mustache by seein' it oncet," I says. "It may be a crook at heart."
"This ain't gettin' us nowheres," says the Missus. "They's still a question before the house."
"It's up to Bess to give the answer," I says. "Bishop and his lip shield are invited if they'll set in a three-dollar seat."
"It's off, then," says Bessie, and beats it in the guest room and slams the door.
"What's the matter with you?" says the Missus.
"Nothin' at all," I says, "except that I ain't no millionaire scenario writer. Twenty dollars is twenty dollars."
"Yes," the Missus says, "but how many times have you lost more than that playin' cards and not thought nothin' of it?"
"That's different," I says. "When I spend money in a card game it's more like a investment. I got a chance to make somethin' by it."
"And this would be a investment, too," says the Wife, "and a whole lot better chance o' winnin' than in one o' them crooked card games."
"What are you gettin' at?" I ast her.
"This is what I'm gettin' at," she says, "though you'd ought to see it without me tellin' you. This here Bishop's made a big hit with Bess."
"It's been done before," says I.
"Listen to me," says the Frau. "It's high time she was gettin' married, and I don't want her marryin' none o' them Hoosier hicks."
"They'll see to that," I says. "They ain't such hicks."
"She could do a lot worse than take this here Bishop," the Missus says. "Ten thousand a year ain't no small change. And she'd be here in Chi; maybe they could find a flat right in this buildin'."
"That's all right," I says. "We could move."
"Don't be so smart," says the Missus. "It would be mighty nice for me to have her so near and it would be nice for you and I both to have a rich brother-in-law."
"I don't know about that," says I. "Somebody might do us a mischief in a fit o' jealous rage."
"He'd show us enough good times to make up for whatever they done," says the Wife. "We're foolish if we don't make no play for him and it'd be startin' off right to take him along to this here op'ra and set him in the best seats. He likes good music and you can see he's used to doin' things in style. And besides, sis looks her best when she's dressed up."
Well, I finally give in and the Missus called Bessie out o' the despondents' ward and they was all smiles and pep, but they acted like I wasn't in the house; so, to make it realistical, I blowed down to
