Page:Firecrackers a realistic novel.pdf/129

 I heard something about it, Paul responded sympathetically, but I didn't catch her name.

Paul, Cupid groaned, I'm a boob with women, a simp. They can get anything out of me, and the only way I can find love is to buy it. Nobody cares for me for myself.

You're a good egg, Paul assured him.

You bet your life I'm a good egg, good and easy enough to eat! Do you know what the trouble is, Paul? I should never have gone into business. I used to play the bass-viol, and if I had kept up my music I would have led an entirely different life. . . got something out of it.

Paul lighted a cigarette. What about those stocks, Cupid? he inquired.

Cupid gave him a quick, intense glance. I can't understand you, Paul. This interest of yours in affairs. You always come back to stocks. God! You're exploding a proverb! Lucky in business and lucky with women, too.

I suppose it's because I know their place, Paul explained modestly.

Don't you ever fall for a skirt? Cupid queried, wide-eyed. Doesn't it ever get you?

Paul reflected. I've fallen once or twice, he responded, but I guess it wasn't for a skirt. More likely, it was for a mesh-bag.