“No, spose not. Doctors are kept on the jump. Specially specialists. And I know your husband is busy. Say, is there any truth in the report that he pays the grocers and delicatessen men to get—you know—doubtful canned goods, and not too fresh sea foods and all that—so there'll be more ptomaine cases?”
“What a good idea!” Warble cried. “I had not heard of it, but if Bill does that he's more efficient than I thought him!”
“I spose he's terribly in love with you?”
“Bill? Oh, yes. We adore each other.”
“I didn't know. The Petticoats are all so thin—”
“Yes, a change is always pleasant.” Warble gave her engaging smile.
“Maybe. That Daisy Snow now—she's so pretty and slender. Dr. Petticoat seems mighty fond of her.”
“Well, you know what doctors are. Nice to everybody, of course. There's no telling who'll have ptomaine poisoning next.”
“Oh, yes, you can always tell that. It's sure to be Iva Payne. She's awful attractive, too. You must be worried about your man, Mrs. Petticoat.”
“I do worry a lot. It keeps my flesh down. Tell me more to worry about.”