he was tired of this mother-and-son foolishness, and wasn't going to leave any room for doubt this time. Didn't propose to have people sizing his wife up for one of his ancestors any more. So he married Lulu Littlebrown, who was just turned eighteen. Chauncey was over fifty then, and wizened up like a late pippin that has been out overnight in an early frost.
He took Lu to Chicago for the honeymoon, and Mose Greenebaum, who happened to be going up to town for his fall goods, got into the parlor car with them. By and by the porter came around and stopped beside Chauncey.
"Wouldn't your daughter like a pillow under her head?" says he.
Chauncey just groaned. Then—"Git; you Senegambian son of darkness!" And the porter just naturally got.
Mose had been taking it all in, and now he went back to the smoking-room and passed the word along to the drummers
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