"I don't get this man Hilmer… One minute he insults you and the next minute he's as considerate as a canteen worker… What's he throwing business my way for?"
Helen, munching a gingersnap, would go on with her laborious typewriting, and return:
"Why look a gift horse in the mouth, Freddie?… Women aren't the only riddles in the world."
"I think he comes to see you," he used to throw out in obvious jest.
"That's the only way I can figure it."
"He's like every man … he wants an audience… I guess Mother Hilmer is tired of hearing him rave."
And so the banter would go on until Fred would pull up with a round turn, realizing quite suddenly that he was talking to his wife and not just to his stenographer.
"He'll be at me one of these days on that commission question, you mark my words," he would venture.
"And what are you going to do?"
"Why, refuse, of course, and lose the business."
"Well, don't cross the bridge till you come to it."