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"Judge, shake hands with my friend Eddie Pierce." adding as the ceremony was performed, "Eddie keeps a good team, any time you want a hack-ride." "Sure, Judge," remarked the driver cordially. "Just call up Main 224, any time. Any friend of Sour-dough's can have anything they want night or day." Whereupon he climbed to his box and we at last drove away.
Both smoked the brown paper cigarettes. "You see?" murmured Mr. Belknap-Jackson as we looked in upon them. "Quite so, sir," I said discreetly. The Mixer regarded her son-in-law with some annoyance, I thought. "Run off to bed, Jackson!" she directed. "We're busy. I'm putting a nick in Sour-dough's bank roll."
"Yes, Sour-dough's right," she observed. "That Earl just hates the sight of her can't bear to look at her a minute." But she, too, intoned the thing queerly. "He's putting pressure to bear on her," I said. "Pressure!" said the Mixer; and then, "Hum!" very dryly.
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