“The weather ain’t like this everywheres,” she says.
“You must of been goin’ to night school,” I says.
“Another thing you promised me,” says she, “was that when you could afford it you’d take me on a real honeymoon trip to make up for the dinky one we had.”
“That still goes,” I says, “when I can afford it.”
“You can afford it now,” says she. “We don’t owe nothin’ and we got money in the bank.”
“Yes,” I says. “Pretty close to three hundred bucks.”
“You forgot somethin’,” she says. “You forgot them war babies.”
Did I tell you about that? Last fall I done a little dabblin’ in Crucial Steel and at this time I’m tellin’ you about I still had a hold of it, but stood to pull down six hundred. Not bad, eh?
“It’d be a mistake to let loose now,” I says.
“All right,” she says. “Hold on, and I hope you lose every cent. You never did care nothin’ for me.”
Then we done a little spoonin’ and then I ast her what was the big idear.
“We ain’t swelled on ourself,” she says; “but I know and you know that the friends we been associatin’ with ain’t in our class. They don’t know how to dress and they can’t talk about nothin’ but their goldfish and their meat bills. They don’t try to get nowheres, but all they do is play rummy and take in the Majestic. I and you like nice people and good music and things that’s worth w’ile. It’s a crime for us to be wastin’ our time with riff and raff that’d run round barefooted if it wasn’t for the police.”