Still holding the shoe, he looked at the array of
horsehair bridles on the walls. Then, carrying the shoe, he got
up and solemnly counted them, journeying into the two adjoining
rooms to complete the tale. Then he came back to the bed and
gravely addressed his shoe:--
"The little woman's right. Only one bed at a time. One hundred
and forty hair bridles, and nothing doing with ary one of them.
One bridle at a time! I can't ride one horse at a time. Poor
old Bob. I'd better be sending you out to pasture. Thirty
million dollars, and a hundred million or nothing in sight, and
what have I got to show for it? There's lots of things money
can't buy. It can't buy the little woman. It can't buy
capacity. What's the good of thirty millions when I ain't got
room for more than a quart of cocktails a day? If I had a
hundred-quart-cocktail thirst, it'd be different. But one
quart--one measly little quart! Here I am, a thirty times over
millionaire, slaving harder every day than any dozen men that
work for me, and all I get is two meals that don't taste good,
one bed, a quart of Martini, and a hundred and forty hair bridles
to look at on the wall.
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