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Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut
"Hello,"Eloisesaidintothephone,withouthavingturnedtheoverheadlighton."Look,Ican’tmeetyou.MaryJane’shere.She’sgothercarparkedrightinfrontofmeandshecan’tfindthekey.Ican’tgetout.Wespentabouttwentyminuteslookingforitinthewuddayacallit—thesnowandstuff.MaybeyoucangetaliftwithDickandMildred."Shelistened."Oh.Well,that’stough,kid.Whydon’tyouboysformaplatoonandmarchhome?Youcansaythatbut-hopehoop-hoopbusiness.Youcanbethebigshot."Shelistenedagain."I’mnotfunny,"shesaid."Really,I’mnot.It’sjustmyface."Shehungup.
Shewalked,lesssteadily,backintothelivingroom.Atthewindowseat,shepouredwhatwasleftinthebottleofScotchintoherglass.Itmadeaboutafinger.Shedrankitoff,shivered,andsatdown.
WhenGraceturnedonthelightinthediningroom,Eloisejumped.Withoutgettingup,shecalledintoGrace,"Youbetternotserveuntileight,Grace.Mr.Wengler’llbealittlelate."
Graceappearedinthedining-roomlightbutdidn’tcomeforward."Theladygo?"shesaid.
"She’sresting."
"Oh,"saidGrace."MizWengler,Iwonderedifit’dbeallrightifmyhusbandpassedtheevenin’here.Igotplentyaroominmyroom,andhedon’thavetobebackinNewYorktilltomorrowmornin’,andit’ssobadout."
"Yourhusband?Whereishe?"
"Well,rightnow,"Gracesaid,"he’sinthekitchen."
"Well,I’mafraidhecan’tspendthenighthere,Grace."
"Ma’am?"
"IsayI’mafraidhecan’tspendthenighthere.
