However, a little later Gatewood said: "Well, are you going to read your paper all day ?" "What you need," said Kerns, laying the paper aside, "is a job--any old kind would do, dear friend." "I don't want to make any more money." "I don't want you to.

I mean a job where you'd lose a lot and be scared into thanking Heaven for carfare.

_You're_ a nice object for the breakfast table!" "Bridge.

I will be amiable enough by noon time." "Yes, you're endurable by noon time, as a rule.

When you're forty you may be tolerated after five o'clock; when you're fifty your wife and children might even venture to emerge from the cellar after dinner--" "Wife!" "I said wife," replied Kerns, as he calmly watched his man.
He had managed it well, so far, and he was wise enough not to overdo it.
An interval of silence was what the situation required.
"I wish I _had_ a wife," muttered Gatewood after a long pause.
"Oh, haven't you said that every day for five years?
Wife! Look at the willing assortment of dreams playing Sally Waters around town.