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followed, to repeat the part of Sefiora Brown.
    She put the first record on the phonograph, turning it low enough so that the mailman or any delivery boys would not overhear and think she had gone out of her mind. Seated on the sofa directly opposite the machine she waited, holding onto the booklet in case there should be an emergency.
    “Buenas dias, Senora Brown,” the record began, appropriately enough. “C6mo esta usted?”
    “Buenas dias, Senor Carreno/’ Senora Brown answered. “Muy bien, gracias. Y usted?”
    The record waited for Mrs. Bridge who, however, was afraid it would begin before she had a chance to speak, and in consequence only leaned forward with her lips parted. She got up, walked across to the phonograph, and lifted the needle back to the beginning.
    “Buenas dias, Senora Brown. Como esti usted?”
    “Buenas dias, Senor Carreno/* replied Senora Brown all over again. “Muy bien, gracias. Y usted?”
    “Buenas dias, Senor Carreno,” said Mrs. Bridge with increasing confidence. “Muy bien, gracias. Y usted?”
    “Muy bien/’ said Senor Carreno.
    Just then Harriet appeared to say that Mrs. Arlen was on the telephone. Mrs. Bridge put the booklet on the sofa and went into the breakfast room, where the telephone was.
    1 ‘Hello, Madge. I’ve been meaning to phone you about the Auxiliary luncheon next Friday. They’ve changed the time from twelve-thirty to one. Honestly, I wish they’d make up their minds.”
    “Charlotte told me yesterday. You knew Grace Barron was ill with flu, didn’t you?”
    “Oh, not really! She has the worst luck.”
    “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. She’s been down since day before yesterday. I’m running by with some lemonade and thought you might like to come along. I can only stay a split second. I’m due at the hairdresser at eleven/’
    “Well, I’m in slacks. Are you going right away?”
    “The instant the laundress gets here. That girl! She should have been here hours ago. Honestly, I’m at the end of my rope.”
    “Don’t tell me you’re having that same trouble! I sometimes think they do it deliberately just to put people out. We’re trying a new one and she does do nice work, but she’s so independent.”
    “Oh,” said Madge Arlen, as if her head were turned away from the phone, “here she comes. Lord, what next?”
    “Well, I’ll dash right upstairs and change,” said Mrs. Bridge. “I suppose the garden can wait till tomorrow.” And after telling Harriet that she would be at Mrs. Barren’s if any-one called, she started toward the stairs.
    “Que tal, Senora Brown?” inquired the record.
    Mrs. Bridge hurried into the living room, snapped off the phonograph, and went upstairs.

21
The Leacocks
    New people in the neighborhood never failed to provide a topic for discussion. As time went by and they became more familiar they became, naturally, less newsworthy; the Leacocks, however, seemed more remarkable with every passing day. The family consisted of Dr. Gail Leacock, who was not a physician but an academic doctor an associate professor of psychology his wife Lucienne, who was reputedly quite wealthy, and Tarquin. Tarquin was about the same age as Douglas but here all similarity ended. For one thing, Tarquin was said to have an IQ of 185. Mrs. Bridge had not the vaguest notion what Douglas’s IQ might be, and she was not particularly anxious to have him tested; not that she thought he was dull, but it would be just like him deliberately to answer the questions wrong. The discrepancy between their intellects, whatever it might be, was only the focal point of the difference between them; Douglas and Tarquin were, to say the least, oil and water.
    Dr. Leacock, like the majority of husbands, was seldom seen in the daytime, but Mrs. Leacock and Tarquin liked to visit about the neighborhood, and within a few weeks of their arrival it had become evident that for some reason they had chosen Mrs. Bridge as a special friend. Mrs.