He showed exquisite tact.
"I'm wise, goilie. She's holdin' your trunk out on you. I been
in the same boat m'self."
Kedzie was willing to let it go at that, but Skip pondered:
"But, say--that ain't goin' to make such a hell of a hit--scuse me,
lady--but I mean if you tell your new landlady about your trunk
bein' left on your old one, that ain't goin' to get you nothin' but
the door-slam in the snoot.... I tell you: tell her you just come
in on the train and your wardrobe-trunk is on the way unless it
got delayed in changin' cars at--oh, any old place. I guess you did
come in, at that, from Buffalo or Pittsboig or some them Western
joints, didn' you?"
Kedzie just looked at him. Her big eyes lied for her, and he
hastened to say:
"Well, scuse me nosin' in on your own business. Tell the landlady
what you want to, only tell her it was me sent you. That's as good
as a guarantee--that she'll have to wait for her money."
Kedzie laughed at his excruciating wit, but she was touched also
by his courtesy, and she told him he was awful kind and she was
terrible obliged.
That bowled him over. But when she rose with stateliness and,
reaching for her money, offered to pay, he had the presence of mind
to snarl, amiably:
"Ah, ferget it and beat it. This meal's on me, and wishing you many
happy returns of the same."
He certainly was one grand gentleman. The proprietor was away,
and Skip could afford to be generous.
Kedzie left him and found the landlady and got a home; and then she
found the store and got a job.
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