"Go ahead."
Tomlin rose, walked to the door, and opened it. He closed it softly and came back.
"Whatever are you up to, old man?"
Tomlin grinned.
"My women," he remarked pensively, "listen at doors."
Quinney exploded.
"And you dare to think that——?"
"Tch! Tch! Nothing like making cocksure. What I have to say is not for other ears. Now, ain't it a pity that we haven't eight o' them Chippendale chairs on which we could fit them eight fine covers?"
"Pity? It's a sinful shame."
"Almost a dooty we owe to society to turn them four into eight?"