B. C. best sellers to prove their case, and when an extra chuckle was
needed I admit I played up my part for all it was worth. Honest, they
develops into a pair of reg'lar cut-ups, and seems to be havin' the
time of their lives discoverin' that I thought Cleopatra must be one of
the Russian ballet and Francis Bacon a new movie star.

"And yet," says Waldo, inspectin' me curious, "your employers intrust
you with a ten thousand dollar check."

"They've never got onto me, the way you have," says I.

"As I have always contended," puts in Tidman, "the commercial mind is
much over-rated. Its intelligence begins with the dollar sign and ends
with a percentage fraction. In England, now, we--"

"Well, Peters?" breaks in T. Waldo, glancin' annoyed towards the double
doors, where the butler is teeterin' back and forth on his toes.

"If you please, sir," says Peters, registerin' deep agitation, "might I
have a word with you in--er--in private, sir?"

"Nonsense, Peters," says Waldo. "Don't be mysterious about silly
housekeeping trifles. What is it? Come, speak up, man."

"As you like, sir," goes on Peters. "It--it's about the laundress,
sir. She's sitting on a man in the basement, sir."

"Wha-a-at?" gasps Waldo.

Tidman takes it out by droppin' a book.