Part 90 (1/2)
”It ain't eatin' time yet.”
”But--Gee! ain't I a invalid?”
”Sure! Consequently you must be fed slow an' cautious.”
”Oh, fudge! What's th' good of a guy bein' a invalid if a guy can't feed when he wants to?”
”What's a hundred an' ninety-one from twenty-three?” enquired Mrs.
Trapes.
”Skidoo!” murmured Spike sulkily. But after Mrs. Trapes had subtracted and added busily he spoke again.
”You ain't such a bad old gink--sometimes,” he conceded.
”Gink?” said Mrs. Trapes, glaring.
”I mean you can be a real daisy when you want to.”
”Can I?”
”Sure! Sometimes you can be so kind an' nice I like you a whole lot!”
”Is that so?”
”You bet it is--honest Injun.”
”Arthur, if it's that pie you want--”
”It ain't!”
”Well, what is it?”
”How d' ye know I want anything?”
”Oh, I just guess, maybe.”
”Well, say--if you could cop me one o' Geoff's cigarettes--one o' them with gold letterin' onto 'em--”
”You mean--thieve you one!”
”Why, no, a cigarette ain't thievin'. Say, now, dear old Trapesy, I'm jest dyin' for a gasper!”
”Well, you go on dyin', an' I'll set right here an' watch how you do it.”
”If I was t' die you'd be sorry for this, I reckon.”
”Anyway, I'd plant some flowers on you, my lad, an' keep your lonely grave nice--”
”Huh!” sniffed Spike, ”a lot o' good that 'ud do me when I was busy pus.h.i.+n' up th' daisies. It's what I want now that matters.”
”An' what you want now, Arthur, is a rod of iron--good 'n' heavy.