“Down in the city do men say ‘Miss Marryin,’ like you do? I thought ’twas jest ‘Miss Oaks,’ or ‘Marry.’”
“It all depends. If you don’t know her well, or if you don’t want to, you say ‘Miss Oaks.’ If you’re pretty well acquainted, so that you feel sort of friendly, it’s ‘Miss Marion.’ You have to be real good friends to drop the ‘Miss’ part of it. Unless, of course, she’s only a little girl.”
“I see. I dunno if I like ‘Miss Marryin,’ but mebbe I do, too. It’s—it’s kind of respectful, ain’t it? Nobody never spoke respectful to me in my life. It makes me feel kind of growed-up. But I notice you keep on sayin’ ‘Miss Marryin’ even after you—after you hugged me jest now. And that’s only sort of friendly, you say.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again. He did not know just what to say. He felt, too, that no answer was needed—that she was musing aloud rather than talking to him. A long pause followed. Then she spoke, not of herself, but of him.
“I hear you’re livin’ right ’long into Jake’s house. Ain’t the ha’nt there now?”
“Oh, yes. He’s there. But I’m used to him now. He never does anything but tramp around and shake the bed once in awhile, and I sleep pretty well. How’s Steve? And your pop?”
“Steve—he’s all right. He’s into a good place, and I see him every day. Pop’s same as usual—drunk most of the time. But you want to watch out if he gits sober. He’s p’ison mad at you, ’count of the dogs. I’m awful glad you kilt them critters. They were always ugly and I was scairt of ’em. One of ’em bit you, didn’t he?”
“Not to amount to anything—nipped my side a little, but the worst damage was to my shirt.”
She nodded, and went on.
“Pop keeps a-stewin’ ’bout it. And Snake Sanders is out now, too. Snake, he was all lamed up awhile, ’specially his neck—couldn’t hardly move it for more’n a week. He says he fell down into the rocks.”