“I would not cross that wife of mine no kind of way,” said Simple, “with a file nor otherwise. My last contest with that woman was such that the police had to protect me. So that man can have her. He can have her! I do not even want a copy of the diploma.”

“A divorce paper does not look like a diploma,” I said.

“I knew a woman once who framed her divorce and hung it on the wall,” said Simple. “But if my wife serves me with one, I will throw it out.”

“That would render it invalid,” I said, “also null and void. You will have to sign all the papers and mail them back to Baltimore so the proceedings can go through.”

“Just so they get out of my sight,” said Simple. “Joyce would not want no other woman’s divorce papers hanging around. If she did, Joyce could have bought them papers herself by now. I gave her the opportunity.”

“I am always puzzled as to why you have been so unwilling to pay for your own divorce,” I said.

“I told Isabel when we busted up that she had shared my bed, she had shared my board, my licker, and my Murray’s, but that I did not intend to share another thing with her from that day to this, not even a divorce. That is why I would not pay for it. Let that other man pay for it and they can share it together.”

“But it will free you to marry Joyce,” I said.

“Joyce will be free to marry me, you mean.”

“Joyce is not being divorced from anyone. You are the one who is being divorced.”

“Which means I will no longer be free, then,” said Simple. “I will be married again before the gold seal is hardly out from under the stamper.”

“That will be good for you. Perhaps you will settle down, stay home, stop running around nights.”

“I will,” said Simple, “because I will have a home to stay at. I will not have to live in bars to keep from looking at my landlady in the face.”

“Maybe married you can save a little money and get somewhere in the world.”

“Them would be my best intentions,” said Simple. “Facts is, I always did have ambitions. When I were a little boy in Virginia, my grandma told me to hitch my wagon to a star.”

“Did you try?”

“I did,” said Simple, “but it must have been a dog-star.”

“Well, now things will be different. Joyce is a good girl. You love her and she loves you, so this time you should make a go of it. And I will dance at your wedding.”

“You will be my best man,” said Simple.

“Well, of course, I’d be delighted—but—but maybe you’d like a relative or some other more intimate friend for your best man. After all, Joyce doesn’t know me very well.”