"Why, Tip says she's the best-lookin' woman in the walley, and that she's a terrible tasty dresser."
"Terrible," I muttered.
"Indeed! Now that's nice. And is she spare or fleshy?"
"Medium," I said. "Just right."
"That's nice. But what'll she run to? It makes a heap of difference to a woman what she runs to. Now I naterally take on."
"I should say Nanny Pulsifer would naturally lose weight," I answered.
"That's nice. It's so much better to run to that—it's easier gittin' around. Tip says she has a be-yutiful figger. There's nothin' like figger. If there's anythin' I hate to see it's a first-class gingham fittin' a woman like it was hung there to air. But about Tip's wife agin—she must have a lovely disposition?"
"Splendid," I said.
"That's what Tip says. He told me that oncet in a while when he was kind of low-down she'd git het-up and spited like, but ordinarily, he says, she's jest a-singin' and a-singin' and makin' him comf'table and helpin' the children. And them children! I'm jest longin' to see 'em. They must be lovely."
"From what Tip says," I interjected.