"Something is the matter, Meesus Teebuts?" asked her roomer, setting a bag of groceries on the table.
"Oh, just a new roomer," smiled Mrs. Tibbets. "I'm worried about him. He looks so sickly. I wonder if I should have rented him that room. Liable to catch his death of pneumonia."
"Pah. Always you worry too much," said Mrs. Leonetti. "If it's not the one thing, it's the other."
"But the cellar ..." said Mrs. Tibbets, with a little shiver. "It's so damp."
"He's-a live in the cellar?"
"He—He seemed to prefer it."
Mrs. Leonetti shrugged, and began putting away her purchases in the refrigerator. "Well, if he likes, he likes. I'm-a have an uncle once, he likes to live in the attic and fly kites from-a the window."
"It takes all kinds, I guess," said Mrs. Tibbets.
"Sure it does," said Mrs. Leonetti, dismissing the subject. "Say, I'm-a gonna make a big pot spaghett'. Maybe you can-a bring him a plate. Warm him up good."
"That's a wonderful idea!" said Mrs. Tibbets. "But—" her face fell. "He'll probably be going to work. He works nights."