Mrs. Olsen
Two times already dis veek, I see him here.
Mrs. Jones
I seen him, meself, one day last week. He was comin’ out o’ the house, jest as I was comin’ in wit’ de dog. “Good mornin’, Mrs. Jones,” he says to me, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Good mornin’,” says I, lookin’ him straight in the eye—[Breaking off suddenly, as the vestibule door opens]: Be careful, she’s comin’.
Mrs. Maurrant
Goodness, ain’t it hot! I think it’s really cooler upstairs.
[She comes down the steps to the sidewalk.]
Mrs. Jones
Yeah, jes’ what I was sayin’, meself. I feel like a wet dish-rag.
Mrs. Maurrant
I would have liked to go to the Park concert tonight, if Rose had got home in time. I don’t get much chance to go to concerts. My husband don’t care for music. But Rose is more like me—just crazy about it.
