One On The House Read Online Free Page B

to you, ain’t it? Like a feller I used to know that always had to have a couple thousand on him in case he suddenly had to run away somewheres. When you’re runnin’ away from yourself, they ain’t no place that far.”
    “True, his feeling of security comes from money,” Miss Tinkham said, “but whose doesn’t? It’s an inopportune time to psychoanalyze him when he’s fainting…”
    “Strictly from hunger!” Mrs. Feeley laughed. “Now was we home in San Diego, we’d take you right to the Ark an’ I can just see Mrs. Rasmussen fixin’ you one o’ them omu-lets o’ hers, with the whites an’ yolks all beat separate, tender as a mother’s kiss!”
    “Oyster stew, half milk an’ half cream, is what he needs,” Mrs. Rasmussen said calmly.
    “There is a very refined place near here,” he said. “We could have a light repast if you would accompany me.”
    “Let’s get goin’,” Mrs. Feeley said. “We’ll be as refined as a tart at the Ladies’ Aid.”
    Mr. Flink had not exaggerated; the place was refined and the food excellent. Mrs. Rasmussen’s prescription of oyster stew restored his self-confidence as well as the condition of his stomach. He embarked on two extra-thick lamb chops. Mrs. Feeley and Miss Tinkham enjoyed Welsh rabbit. Mrs. Rasmussen had Crab Imperial.
    “Couldn’t o’ made it better myself.” She bestowed the accolade with the modesty of the true artist.
    “You can make that?” Mr. Flink pointed with the knife he raised from his lamb chop.
    “Can she make that!” Mrs. Feeley said. “She can make that, or a paddle de foy, or a Long Island Hurrah. She can make anythin’ better than anybody else.”
    “As we say in French, Mr. Flink…Mrs. Rasmussen’s cooking is something to put yourself on your knees before. That loses a little something in the translation, but I’m sure you get my meaning!” Miss Tinkham beamed on her host.
    “You are all related?” Mr. Flink gazed in wonder from one face to another.
    “Hell, man! Anybody can see we ain’t related: we get along too good!”
    “You all live together?”
    “Sure. At the Ark.”
    “The Ark?”
    “Mrs. Feeley’s estate in San Diego,” Miss Tinkham explained.
    “And what does Mr. Feeley do, if I may inquire?”
    “Mr. Feeley? He holds up the birdbath in the front yard.” Mrs. Feeley winked at her companions.
    “Where is Mr. Rasmussen?” Mr. Flink was bound to find out at least one thing for sure.
    “He’s gone,” Mrs. Rasmussen said sadly.
    “He never went off and abandoned you?” Mr. Flink oozed sympathy.
    “In a manner of speaking,” Miss Tinkham said.
    “Don’t you ever hear from him?” Mr. Flink asked.
    Mrs. Rasmussen shook her head.
    “Have you filed for a divorce?”
    “That’d be goin’ a little far.” Mrs. Rasmussen’s face was solemn.
    “Now that’s where ladies make the mistake! There is no use going through life chained to a man who does not support you. He does not care what happens to you. The world is full of men who could make you happy, men who would be good to you. Give you charge accounts. It hurts me to see a refined lady like yourself in a position where she cannot accept the honorable intentions of a man who would know how to appreciate her. You must file at once.” Mr. Flink spoke with firmness.
    Miss Tinkham and Mrs. Feeley were gulping into their napkins.
    “Well,” Mrs. Rasmussen said slowly with meekly downcast eyes, “It’d be a sheer waste o’ money in this case.”
    “Waste of money? Why, little lady, surely the man of your choice would defray the expenses.”
    “Still be a waste o’ good money.”
    “Why?” Mr. Flink leaned forward avidly.
    “’Cause he’s been dead fifteen years.”
    Mrs. Feeley and Miss Tinkham laughed immoderately. Mr. Flink looked as though he might be going to cry.
    “I have been quite a few places and met quite some few persons,” he said. “In opening vaults and safes that get locked by mistake I have met persons in all