J. Roland cried in abject fear: "Great Scott! What are you doing here!
"Well may you ask," said Charles De Jones, in bitter, caustic, scathing
tones. "You've dodged me for a dozen weeks, but now--'tis the avenger
speaks--you'll have to pay up what you owe, or to the county jug you'll
go."
Then turning to the maiden fair, De Jones went on: "That villain there!
Four months ago I sold that man a cook book on th' installment plan.
He gave his solemn pledge to pay, for seven years, two cents a day. He
made two payments, then he flunked. I've hung around the place he
bunked, I've chased him through the rain and sleet, I've boned him on
the public street, I've shadowed him by night and day, but not a kopeck
would he pay. I'm weary of these futile sprints; I'll roast him in the
public prints, and give him such a bum renown he'll be a byword in the
town."
She viewed her lover in amaze, and cold and scornful was her gaze.
"And so the book you handed me, to plight our troth," with ire said
she, "you bought from Charlie here on tick? Skidoo! A deadbeat makes
me sick! I'll never marry any jay who can't dig up two cents a day!"