Mrs. Smith, who lives at 13
Blank Street, asked her husband to
take her to the Majestic. He, liking the
feel of slippers on his feet and entertaining the average male’s aversion for
being elevated by grand opera demurred, whereupon his spouse declared loudly
and irritably that he was a dull stay-at-home and she wished that she never had
married him. Magnolia, the maid,
bringing in the joint, overheard and retailed the item over the back fence to
the kitchen mechanic who worked for Mrs. Brown, in No. 15, who in turn
communicated it to her mistress, slightly embellished. Mrs. Brown lost little time in calling up
Mrs. Jenks, who lived at No. 23, and telling her that Mrs. Smith had had a row
with her husband and was going to leave him.
Four other women on the party line listened in. By the time the tidings reached No. 99, Mrs.
Smith had slammed the door in her better half’s face and eloped with the
iceman. Neighborly tongues can make
mountain ranges out of infinitely less than mole hills.
-
The
Wanderer
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