"Oh, don't do that. There may be something in it that I want to read."
"No, there isn't. There's nothing in it. I read it through. I have an idea. I'll tell you what let's do. Let's burn the paper and I'll tell you what the women wore. These society notes are written beforehand and are not authentic. The only way is to have it from an eye-witness. Let's do it, will you?"
"No, I would rather read it. Aren't you sick, Tom? What makes your brow so damp?"
"It's so hot, it's infernally hot in here."
"I thought it was rather cold. I saw you shiver a moment ago. Tom, you are sick. You must have eaten too much salad last night. You know you can't eat salad."
"I didn't touch any salad. I only ate a frankfurter and drank a high-ball—"
"A frankfurter and a high-ball! Why, what sort of refreshments did they have?"
"I didn't mean that. I meant a canary-bird sandwich and a glass of water."
"I know what it is then, Tom. You inhaled a lot of the smoke."
Tom took a long hard look at his wife. "What!" he almost screamed at last.