Bertha said, “That’s one of those pretty speeches that sound as smooth as silk until you stop to pick the words to pieces to see what they mean. I’d say that you didn’t get along too well.”
“In oral conversation,” Milbers admitted, choosing his words with careful precision, “we had our differences. They were predicated upon certain radical political and economic beliefs. In carrying on a correspondence, it is possible to avoid certain controversial subjects if one is tactful. In a conversation, it is not so easy.”
Bertha said, “You could save a lot of your time and a lot of mine if you’d come right out and call a spade a spade.”
Milbers’s eyes lit up with the fire of enthusiasm. “Ah, Mrs. Cool, there you go, making exactly the same error that so many people make. A spade is not a spade. That is, a spade is a very rough general classification covering gardening implements of a certain conventionalized shape but used for different purposes. There are spades and shovels. There are various types of spades and various types of shovels. Popularly, a shovel is considered a spade, and a spade considered a shovel. As a matter of fact, however—”
“Skip it,” Bertha said. “I can appreciate why your cousin felt the way he did. Go on from there.”
“You mean about the spades?”
“No, about your cousin. Where did he live? Hotel, boarding house, club, or—”
“No, Mrs. Cool. He didn’t live in any of those places. Unfortunately, he sought to maintain his own domicile.”
“Who ran it for him?”
“A housekeeper.”