"Twelve out—thirteen. That's right, isn't it? Thank you so much, sir," says she, her gray eyes twinklin'.
"Quit the kiddin'," says I, "and sketch out the plot of the piece."
"Can't now," says Vee. "So run along. Please!"
"But how long does this act of yours last?" I insists.
"Until about noon, I think," says she. "It's such fun. You can't imagine."
"What's it for, though?" says I. "Are you pullin' a sleuth stunt on—— "
"S-s-s-sh!" warns Vee. "He's coming. Pretend to be getting a bill changed or something."
It's while I'm fishin' out a ten that this little dialogue at the meat counter begins to get conspicuous: A thin, stoop-shouldered female with gray streaks in her hair is puttin' up a howl at the price of corned beef. She'd asked for the cheapest piece they had, and it had been weighed for her, but still she wasn't satisfied.
"It wasn't as high last Saturday," she objects.
"No, ma'am," says the clerk. "It's gone up since."