"It'd be a mistake to let loose now," I says.
"All right," she says. "Hold on, and I hope you lose every cent. You never did care nothin' for me."
Then we done a little spoonin' and then I ast her what was the big idear.
"We ain't swelled on ourself," she says; "but I know and you know that the friends we been associatin' with ain't in our class. They don't know how to dress and they can't talk about nothin' but their goldfish and their meat bills. They don't try to get nowheres, but all they do is play rummy and take in the Majestic. I and you like nice people and good music and things that's worth w'ile. It's a crime for us to be wastin' our time with riff and raff that'd run round barefooted if it wasn't for the police."
"I wouldn't say we'd wasted much time on 'em lately," I says.
"No," says she, "and I've had a better time these last three weeks than I ever had in my life."
"And you can keep right on havin' it," I says.
"I could have a whole lot better time, and you could, too," she says, "if we could get acquainted with some congenial people to go round with; people that's tastes is the same as ourn."
"If any o' them people calls up on the phone," I says, "I'll be as pleasant to 'em as I can."
"You're always too smart," says the Wife. "You don't never pay attention to no schemes o' mine."