“Say, ’bo,” she continued tantalizingly, “whilst you are a lookin’, just cast your lamps into the gasoline tank. That man who filled it didn’t put a widow’s mite in.”
Unbelievingly he followed this lead.
“Not a drop, damn it!”
“The last straw with you, isn’t it? I’m not to blame, though. If you think I stole your gasoline, just search me. How far are we from your tiptop tavern?”
“Twenty miles. I suppose you couldn’t walk it,” he said doubtfully.
“Me? In these?” she exclaimed, thrusting forth a foot illy and most inadequately shod. “But you can walk on.”
“No:” he refused. “You don’t put one over on me in that way.”
“You know I couldn’t walk back to town.”
“Some one might come along in a car.”
“Wouldn’t you trust me, if I gave you my word to wait for you?”