you show Hatch up.”
“What do you mean?” she says.
“I mean we should ought to return the compliment,” says I. “We should ought to give them a party right back.”
“We’d be broke for six weeks,” she says.
“Oh, we’d do it with their money like they done it with ours,” I says.
“Yes,” she says; “but if you can ever win enough from the Hatches to buy four box seats to the op’ra I’d rather spend the money on a dress.”
“Who said anything about four box seats?” I ast her.
“You did,” she says.
“You’re delirious!” I says. “Two box seats will be a plenty.”
“Who’s to set in them?” ast the Missus.
“Who do you think?” I says. “I and you is to set in them.”
“But what about the Hatches?” she says.
“They’ll set up where they was,” says I. “Hatch picked out the seats before, and if he hadn’t of wanted that altitude he’d of bought somewheres else.”
“Yes,” says the Missus, “but Mrs. Hatch won’t think we’re very polite to plant our guests in the Alps and we set down in a box.”
“But they won’t know where we’re settin’,” I says. “We’ll tell them we couldn’t get four seats together, so for them to set where they was the last time and we’re goin’ elsewheres.”
“It don’t seem fair,” says my wife.
“I should worry about bein’ fair with Hatch,” I says. “If he’s ever left with more than a dime’s worth o’ cards you got to look under the table for his hand.”
“It don’t seem fair,” says the Missus.
“You should worry!” I says.
So we ast them over the followin’ night and it looked for a minute like we was goin’ to clean up. But after that one minute my Missus began collectin’ pitcher cards again and every card Hatch drawed seemed like it was made to his measure. Well, sir, when we was through the lucky stiff was eight dollars to the good and Mrs. Hatch had about broke even.
“Do you suppose you can get them same seats?” I says.
“What seats?” says Hatch.
“For the op’ra,” I says.
“You won’t get me to no more op’ra,” says Hatch. “I don’t never go to the same show twicet.”
“It ain’t the same show, you goof!” I says. “They change the bill every day.”
“They ain’t goin’ to change this eight-dollar bill o’ mine,” he says.
“You’re a fine stiff!” I says.
“Call me anything you want to,” says Hatch, “as long as you don’t go over eight bucks’ worth.”
“Jim don’t enjoy op’ra,” says Mrs. Hatch.
“He don’t enjoy nothin’ that’s more than a nickel,” I says. “But as long as he’s goin’ to welsh on us I hope he lavishes the eight-spot where it’ll do him some good.”
“I’ll do what I want to with it,” says Hatch.
“Sure you will!” I says. “You’ll bury it. But what you should ought to do is buy two suits o’ clo’es.”
So I went out in the kitchen and split a pint one way.
But don’t think for a minute that I and the Missus ain’t goin’ to hear no more op’ra just because of a cheap stiff like him welshin’. I don’t have to win in no rummy game before I spend.
We’re goin’ next Tuesday night, I and the Missus, and we’re goin’ to set somewheres near Congress Street. The show’s Armour’s Do Re Me, a new one that’s bein’ gave for the first time. It’s prob’ly named after some soap.
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