"Well, let us see if I can roll
two sixes and tie the score. I can! What's more, I do! Miguel, are
these dice college-bred? Ah! Old Lady Parker rolls a wretched little
pair of bull's-eyes!"
Don Miguel took the dice and rolled--a pair of deuces.
"I'm going to make big money operating a boarding-house," he informed
the lady.
"'Landlord, fill the flowing bowl until it doth flow over,'" she sang
gaily. "John, you owe Miguel twelve thousand dollars, payable at the
rate of one thousand dollars a month for twelve months. Have your
lawyer in El Toro draw the lease this afternoon."
Parker glanced at her with a broad hint of belligerence in his keen
gray eyes.
"My dear," he rasped, "I wish you would take me seriously once in a
while. For twenty-five years I've tried to keep step with you, and
I've failed. One of these bright days I'm going to strike."
"I recall three occasions when you went on strike, John, and refused to
accept my orders," the mischievous woman retorted sweetly. "At the
conclusion of the strike, you couldn't go back to work. Miguel, three
separate times that man has declined to cease money-making long enough
to play, although I begged him with tears in my eyes. And I'm not the
crying kind, either. And every time he disobeyed, he blew up. Miguel,
he came home to me as hysterical as a high-school girl, wept on my
shoulder, said he'd kill himself if he couldn't get more sleep, and
then surrendered and permitted me to take him away for six months.
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