Sue gasped. "Wha-a-at?"
"Never," confirmed Hattie. "And he never talks to her—except through me."
Sue was incredulous. "You mean——" And pantomimed, pointing from an imaginary speaker to Hattie; from Hattie to a second speaker; then back.
"Exactly."
Sue pretended to be overwhelmed. She sank to a chair. "Oh, that sounds wonderful!" she cried. "I want to try it!"
"That new job you're looking for," suggested Hattie. "You know I resign tomorrow."
Sue rose and struck an absurd attitude. "Behold Susan Milo, the Human
Telephone!" she announced. And to Hattie's mother, "Where is Mr.
Balcome?"
By now, Mrs. Balcome had entirely recovered her breath. "Where he is," she answered calmly, "or what he does, is of no importance to me." She picked at the crêpe cascade.
Sue exchanged a look with her mother. "Well—er—he'll be here?" she ventured.
Mrs. Balcome lifted her ample shoulders. "I don't know, and I don't care." She fell to caressing the dog.