"Which one?" I ast her. "You can't mean Mrs. A. D. T. Messenger."
"If you're so cute I won't tell you nothin' about it," says she.
"Don't make no rash threats," I says. "You're goin' to tell me some time and they's no use makin' yourself sick by tryin' to hold it in."
"You know very well what Mrs. Messenger I mean," she says. "It was Mrs. Robert Messenger that's husband owns this buildin' and the one at the corner, where they live at."
"Haven't you paid the rent?" I says.
"Do you think a woman like Mrs. Messenger would be buttin' into her husband's business?" says the Missus.
"I don't know what kind of a woman Mrs. Messenger is," I says. "But if I owned these here apartments and somebody fell behind in their rent, I wouldn't be surprised to see the owner's wife goin' right over to their flat and takin' it out o' their trousers pocket."
"Well," says the Wife, "we don't owe them no rent and that wasn't what she called up about. It wasn't no business call."
"Go ahead and spill it," I says. "My heart's weak."
"Well," she says, "I was just gettin' through with the lunch dishes and the phone rang."