"Why--why, then
you--you're Number One!"

Maria nods her head.

Then Fletcher gets his tongue out of tangle. "Maria," says he, "this
is my wife, Maizie."

"Yes?" says Maria, as gentle as a summer night. "I thought this must
be Maizie. You're very young and pretty, aren't you? I suppose you go
about a lot? But you must be careful of Fletcher. He always was
foolish about staying up too late, and eating things that hurt him. I
used to have to warn him against black coffee and welsh rabbits. He
will eat them, and then he has one of his bad spells. Fletcher is
fifty-six now, you know, and----"

"Maria!" says Mr. Dawes, his face the colour of a boiled beet, "that's
enough of this foolishness! Here, Corson! Show this lady out!"

"Yes, I was just going, Fletcher," says she.

"Good-bye, Maria!" sings out Maizie, and then lets out another of her
soprano ha-ha's, holdin' her sides like she was tickled to death.
Maybe it was funny to her; it wa'n't to Fletcher.

"Come, McCabe," says he; "we'll get to work."

Say, I can hold in about so long, and then I've got to blow off or else
bust a cylinder head. I'd had about enough of this "Come, McCabe"
business, too. "Say, Fletchy," says I, "don't be in any grand rush. I
ain't so anxious to take you on as you seem to think."

"What's that?" he spits out.

"You keep your ears open long enough and you'll hear it all," says I;
for I was gettin' hotter an' hotter under the necktie. "I just want to
say that I've worked up a grouch against this job durin' the last few
minutes. I guess I'll chuck it up."

That seemed to go in deep. Mr. Dawes, he brings his eyes together
until nothin' but the wrinkle keeps 'em apart, and he gets the hectic
flush on his cheek bones. "I don't understand," says he.

"This is where I quit," says I. "That's all."

"But," says he, "you must have some reason."

"Sure," says I; "two of 'em. One's just gone out. That's the other,"
and I jerks my thumb at Maizie.

She'd been rollin' her eyes from me to Dawes, and from Dawes back to
me. "What does this fellow mean by that?" says Maizie. "Fletcher, why
don't you have him thrown out?"

"Yes, Fletcher," says I, "why don't you? I'd love to be thrown out
just now!"

Someway, Fletcher wasn't anxious, although he had lots of bouncers
standin' idle within call. He just stands there and looks at his toes,
while Maizie tongue lashes first me and then him. When she gets
through I picks up