MRS. MOTES
Certainly; of course. I suppose the eggs are fresh?
MRS. WOLFF
As fresh as my chickens can lay 'em.
MRS. MOTES
[Hastening in order to catch up with her husband.] Well, good-night. You'll get your money next Saturday.
[Exit.
MRS. WOLFF
All right; that'll be all right enough! [She closes the door and speaks softly to herself.] Get outta here, you! Got nothin' but debts with everybody around. [Over her sauce-pan.] What business o' theirs is it what we eat? Let 'em spy into their own affairs. Go to bed, child!