He reached for his hat and cane and a pair of untried gray gloves atop them. "I sent the yellow taffeta out on a C.O.D. That gold buckle she wanted on the shoulder cost her just twenty bucks more."
"Good!"
He fitted on his hat carefully and snapped his gloves across his palm.
"Well, I'm off, madam."
She adjusted her hat in a simulation of indifference. "Like to come up to the flat for supper and—and go over the books, Phonzie?"
"Huh?"
"There's plenty for two and—and we could kind of go over things."
He twirled his cane. "Oh, I—I'm running up there too often, sponging off you."
"Sponging! Like I'd ask you if I didn't want you!"
"I been up there sponging off you three times this week. Anyways, I'm—"
"Don't I always just give you pot luck?"