"Say, here's the big jest in our set. You know, Olga Jones and her
husband don't get along very well together. Their temperaments don't
jibe.
"Well, her soul mate and she had given hubby the slip and were down in
my apartments putting on the finishing touches to the big eats. Soul
Mate was telling the story of his life to Olga when in kicks the dame
that Soul Mate had formerly been in love with.
"They are both wise people and neither tip their mit, though Soul Mate
grew restless with his feet. This was about 4 a.m. and the mere shank of
the evening, as it were. When all of a sudden, Bing! Bing! on the door
and in waltzed Olga's handicap, who had been out and soaked up a souse,
and not finding little wifey when he returned to the hut, he starts out
on a still hunt and ropes in my shack.
"Hubby comes in carrying weight for grouch and pipes party of
five--Blonde Party, Olga, Soul Mate, Wilbur and me. Calls down wifey for
not coming home. Business of language. I kick in and tells him to have a
drink. Nothing to it. Oil on the troubled waters looked like an also
ran.
"Hubby was perfectly content and after a drink or two he beat it,
telling wifey to hurry home. Fine. Blonde Party finds she is fifth wheel
and also ducks. Then Olga lands on Soul Mate. 'Who is this peroxide
party?'
"'Only an old passing fancy,' chirrups Soul Mate.
"Olga tears her hair and bites out a bunch of hectic language about
having the only man she ever loved being false, and how life is naught
but a hollow bubble and all that kind of rot.
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