Charlotte [lugubriously]. No. Not one.
Doris [impressed in spite of herself]. Son of a gun! And he sneaked away a week ago to-night.
Charlotte. It was that awful liquor, I know. He sat up all night and in the morning he was gone.
Doris. It’s the funniest thing I ever heard of, his sneaking off this way.... Say, Charlotte, I’ve been meaning to say something to you for a couple of days, but I didn’t want to get you depressed.
Charlotte. How could I possibly be any more depressed than I am?
Doris. Well, I just wanted to ask you if you’d tried the morgue yet. [Charlotte gives a little scream.] Wait a minute. Get control of yourself. I simply think you ought to try it. If he’s anywhere you ought to locate him.
Charlotte [wildly]. Oh, he’s not dead! He’s not dead!
Doris. I didn’t say he was, did I? I didn’t say he was. But when a fella wanders out tight after drinking some of this stuff, you can’t tell where you’ll find him. Let me tell you, Charlotte, I’ve had more experience with this sort of thing than you have.
Charlotte. The detective is coming to report this morning.
Doris. Has he been combing the dives? You ought to have him comb the dives, Charlotte. I saw a picture last week that ought to be a lesson to any woman that loses her husband in a funny way like this. The woman in this picture lost her husband and she just combed the dives and—there he was.