"Well, they say he's a nephew or a cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm's. That's where all his money comes from."
"Really?"
She nodded.
"I'm scared of him. I'd hate to have him get anything on me."
This absorbing information about my neighbor was interrupted by Mrs. McKee's pointing suddenly at Catherine:
"Chester, I think you could do something with HER," she broke out, but Mr. McKee only nodded in a bored way and turned his attention to Tom.
"I'd like to do more work on Long Island if I could get the entry. All I ask is that they should give me a start."
"Ask Myrtle," said Tom, breaking into a short shout of laughter as Mrs. Wilson entered with a tray. "She'll give you a letter of introduction, won't you, Myrtle?"
"Do what?" she asked, startled.
"You'll give McKee a letter of introduction to your husband, so he can do some studies of him." His lips moved silently for a moment as he invented. " 'George B. Wilson at the Gasoline Pump,' or something like that."
Catherine leaned close to me and whispered in my ear: "Neither of them can stand the person they're married to."
"Can't they?"
"Can't STAND them." She looked at Myrtle and then at Tom. "What I say is, why go on living with them if they can't stand them? If I was them I'd get a divorce and get married to each other right away."