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I desoived the second one, for I'm the kind o' guy gets his once and comes back for more in the same place. I'd go tell Jimmie Dyckman I was a liar but I ain't anxious to be run up for poijury, and I ain't achin' to advertise what a John I been. So long, Anitar, and Gaw delp the next guy crosses your pat'." That was the last Kedzie saw of Skip. She did not miss him.
Kedzie played her pout on him, but Skip glared at her, shook his head, kicked himself with his game leg, and said, "I gotta give you credit, Anitar, you're the real thing as a user." "A what?" said Kedzie. "A user," he explained in his elliptical style. "You're one them dames uses a fella like he was a napkin, then trows him down. You used me twice and used me good.
He was still a waiter, and the apron he had on and the napkin he clutched might have been the same one he had when she first saw him. When he saw her now again he gasped the name he had known her by: "Anitar! Anitar Adair! Well, I'll be " Then his face darkened with the memory of disprized love.
"You woiked that excuse on me when you tried to explain why you toined me down when I wrote you the letter at the stage door." "Yes, I did." "Say, Anitar, you'd oughter git some new material. Your act is growin' familiar." "I don't know what you mean." "Oh no! You wasn't never in vawdvul, was you, oh, no! not a tall!"
When Kedzie pulled out the tremolo stop and looked up, big-eyed, and pouted at him, Skip was hers. "Your husband, Anitar? Your husband here? Why, the low-life hound! I'll go up and kill him for you if you want me to." Kedzie explained that she didn't want to get her dear Skip into any trouble, but she did want his help.
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