"Yes; but we don't turn up our collars, a day like this," Olive mocked him. "Really, Dolph, you're growing soft. But you haven't answered my question. Why aren't you at a class?"
"You're so beastly insistent, Olive. What's the use? If you must know, I've given the dear children a cut, this morning. One of them came prowling into class, all broken out with mumps; that is, if you can call it broken out, when there is only one of it and as large as a camel's hump. Anyhow, I freely offered them a cut, and advised them all to go to their homes and to disinfect themselves with due discretion."
"And you?" Olive inquired.
"Me? I'm immune. I haven't cheek enough to begin to swell up like that. Accordingly, I am merely taking a walk, while I cultivate my muse."
"And I'm to be the muse's understudy?" Olive laughed. "Thank you, I'm otherwise engaged."
"You looked it, when I met you. What's doing?"
"Household economics. I'm going the rounds of the basement bargain counters, hunting dish towelling."
"What's the use?"
"To dry the dishes," Olive told him literally. "One doesn't want to eat things in a puddle."
Dolph stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat. Then he turned to face her rebukefully.