the capitalist paid the bills.

She thought people must have been startled by some of his actions.

"Yes, sir; that old outlaw will eat soup or any soft food with almost no
strategy at all."

As we seemed to be getting nowhere I meanly rolled the lady a cigarette.
She hates to stop knitting to roll one, but she will stop to light it.

She stopped now, and as I held the match for her I said quite frankly
that it had become necessary for me to be told the whole thing from start
to finish. She said she had told me everything--and believed it--but
would go over it again if I didn't understand. Though not always starting
at command, the lady has really a full habit of speech.

I told you about whales, didn't I? Whales started it--whales for table
use. It come in the Sunday paper--with the picture of a handsome whale
and the picture of a French cook kissing his fingers over the way he has
cooked some of it; and the picture of a pleased young couple eating whale
in a swell restaurant; and the picture of a fair young bride in her
kitchenette cutting up three cents' worth of whale meat into a chafing
dish and saying how glad she was to have something tasty and cheap for
dearie's lunch; and the picture of a poor labouring man being told by
someone down in Washington, D.C., that's making a dollar a year, that
a nickel's worth of prime whale meat has more actual nourishment than a
dollar's worth of porterhouse steak; and so on, till you'd think the
world's food troubles was going to be settled in jig time; all people
had to do was to go out and get a good eating whale and salt down the
side meat and smoke the shoulders and grind up some sausage and be fixed