"I'm obliged to agree with you," said Mr. Yollop, compressing his lips as a far-away look came into his eyes. "If I live to be a thousand years old, I'll never forget the way she talked to me when I finally succeeded in telling her I was busy and she would have to excuse me. It was something appalling." "Course. I suppose I got myself to blame," lamented Cassius ruefully. "I don't know how many times I come near to doin' it and didn't because I was so darned chicken-hearted." "I have decided, Cash, that you ought to go up for life,--or for thirty years, at least. So when I go on the stand I intend to do everything in my power to secure the maximum for you. At first, I was reluctant to aid you in your efforts to lead a life of ease and enjoyment but recent events have convinced me that you are entitled to all that the law can give you." "It won't do much good if she's to set there in the Courtroom, snivelling and lookin' heart-broke, with a pack of half-starved kids hangin' on to her. Like as not, she won't give 'em anything to eat for two or three days so's they'll look the part. I remember two of them kids fairly well. The Lord knows I used to take all kinds of risks to provide clothes and all sorts of luxuries for them,--and for her too. I used to give 'em bicycles and skates and gold watches,--yes, sir, we had Christmas regularly once a month. And she never was without fur neck-pieces and muffs and silk stockings and everything. The trouble with that woman is, she can't stand poverty. She just keeps on hopin' for the day to come when she can wear all sorts of finery and jewels again, even if I do have to go to the penitentiary for it. All this comes of bein' too good a provider, Bill. You spoil 'em." Mr. Yollop was thinking, so Cassius, after waiting a moment, scratched his head and ventured: "That guy's beginnin' to fidget, Bill. I guess your time's about up. What are you thinkin' about?" "I was thinking about your other wives. How many did you say you have?" "Three, all told. The other two don't bother me much." "Haven't you ever been divorced from any of them?" "Not especially. Why?" "Where do the other two live, and what are their names?" "Elsie Morton and Jennie Finch. I mean, those are their married names. I use a different alias every time I get married, you see. Course, my first wife,--the one you met,--her name is Smilk. I married her when I was young and not very smart. Elsie lives in Brooklyn and Jennie keeps a delicatessen up on the West Side." "Do they know where you are?" "I don't think so. I forgot to tell 'em I was out on parole last year." "And they have never been divorced from you?" "No. They couldn't prove anything on me as long as I was locked up in the penitentiary." "Does either one of them know about the other two?" "I should say not! What do you think I am?"