Page:Firecrackers a realistic novel.pdf/91

 a suitable excuse to rid herself of her other callers, not a particularly difficult feat for a woman with her superior cunning.

Once they shared the room between them the fat lady poured out her pangs without reserve.

Paul, she sobbed, doesn't love me any more.

Nonsense, Vera! What's the matter? Campaspe invariably treated the erstwhile Mrs. Whittaker with a considerable degree of brusque impatience. This served not only to soothe her own nerves but also to cow Vera into a state of complete release.

He says. . . Mrs. Moody's voice now rose to a shrill wail. . . that he's going to work!

Is that what you're making all this fuss about? He told me as much today.

Was he here today? The lady seemed to hover on the verge of another explosion which, taking into consideration her proportions, suggested that it would have about enough force to complete the demolition of Rheims Cathedral.

Certainly. He had luncheon with me.

He never lunches with me any more, Mrs. Moody whimpered, and last night he dined out again. But I don't mind that. I know you're one of his oldest friends. It's his going to work that kills me.

I promised to speak to Cupid about getting him a position. Mrs. Lorillard absent-mindedly began to whistle.

Campaspe, you wouldn't do that!