American literature -- Humor; American wit and humor
"I am not; I am--I never was so well. See how strong I am. I can crush
that piece of paper up into a very small ball with my bare hands. I am
awfully strong."
"Oh, don't do that. There may be something in it that I want to read."
"No, there isn't. There's nothing in it. I read it through. I have an
idea. I'll tell you what let's do. Let's burn the paper and I'll tell
you what the women wore. These society notes are written beforehand and
are not authentic. The only way is to have it from an eye-witness.
Let's do it, will you?"
"No, I would rather read it. Aren't you sick, Tom? What makes your brow
so damp?"
"It's so hot, it's infernally hot in here."
"I thought it was rather cold. I saw you shiver a moment ago. Tom, you
_are_ sick. You must have eaten too much salad last night. You know you
can't eat salad."
"I didn't touch any salad. I only ate a frankfurter and drank a
high-ball--"
"A frankfurter and a high-ball! Why, what sort of refreshments did they
have?"
"I didn't mean that. I meant a canary-bird sandwich and a glass of
water."
"I know what it is then, Tom. You inhaled a lot of the smoke."
Tom took a long hard look at his wife. "What!" he almost screamed at
last.
"I say you have inhaled too much smoke. You have been smoking too much."
"Oh, that. Yes, I expect I have."
She looked at him with a twinkle in her eye as she sat on the arm of his
chair, holding to the back with her hands.
"Tom, I'll bet you are a great hero."
"I'll bet I'm not."
"I'll bet you are, and are too modest to admit it."
"Too modest to admit what?"
"Too modest to admit the heroic things you have done."
"I never did any."
"Yes, you did. I know you saved two or three people's lives at the risk
of your own."
"I haven't any medals."
"But you must have done something brave, and that's why you didn't tell
me about the explosion."
Tom did not answer. The machinery of his voice would not turn. The power
ran through his throat like cogwheels out of gear.
"My dear, sweet, brave, modest husband."
"I--I'm not all of that."
"Yes you are. You were the bravest man there. How many fainting women
did you rescue?"
"Oh, not many. I think only five or six."
"Did you inhale much of the flame and smoke?"
"Yes, I think I must have inhaled some, but I did not notice it until
now."
"Was the smoke very thick?"
"Awfully thick in places."
"And you walked right into it?"
"I had to. There wasn't any way to ride."
"Ride?"
"I mean I walked into the smoke. I don't know what I am saying. You must
be right. I am sick."
"How brave my husband is. How proud I am of him. And not only brave but
skilful. How did you manage to go through the smoke and flame and get no
odor of smoke on your clothes, nor smut the front of your shirt?"
"I don't know, dear. I did not have time to notice. I was too busy."
"Ah, my hero! I am proud of you. Did you win or lose?"
"Did I what?"
"Did you win or lose?"
Tom took another look into her innocent blue eyes.
"Which?" she repeated.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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