“Well, anyway, I told her you did,” says the Missus. “Don’t you see they wasn’t nothin’ else I could tell her, because if I told her you didn’t, that would of ended it.”
“Ended what?” I says.
“We wouldn’t of been ast to the party,” says the Missus.
“Who told you they was goin’ to be a party?” I says.
“I don’t have to be told everything,” says the Missus. “I got brains enough to know that Mrs. Messenger ain’t callin’ me up and astin’ me do we play bridge just because she’s got a headache or feels lonesome or somethin’. But it ain’t only one party after all, and that’s the best part of it. She ast us if we’d care to join the club.”
“What club?” says I.
“ Mrs. Messenger’s club, the San Susie Club,” says the Missus. “You’ve heard me speak about it a hundred times, and it’s been mentioned in the papers once or twice, too—once, anyway, when the members give away them Christmas dinners last year.”
“We can get into the papers,” I says, “without givin’ away no Christmas dinners.”
“Who wants to get into the papers?” says the Wife. “I don’t care nothin’ about that.”
“No,” I says; “I suppose if a reporter come out here and ast for your pitcher to stick in the society columns, you’d pick up the carvin’ knife and run him ragged.”
“I’d be polite to him, at least,” she says.