“Where's she goin' to be.”
“In Chicago.”
“She is?” said Fred, slyly. “When'd she tell you?”
Ramsey turned on him. “You look out! She didn't tell me. I just happened to see in the Bulletin she's signed up with some other girls to go and do settlement work in Chicago. Anybody could see it. It was printed out plain. You could have seen it just as well as I could, if you'd read the Bulletin.”
“Oh,” said Fred.
“Now look here—”
“Good heavens! Can't I even say 'oh'?”
“It depends on the way you say it.”
“I'll be careful,” Fred assured him, earnestly. “I really and honestly don't mean to get you excited about all this, Ramsey. I can see myself you haven't changed from your old opinion of Dora Yocum a bit. I was only tryin' to get a little rise out of you for a minute, because of course, seriously, why, I can see you hate her just the same as you always did.”
“Yes,” said Ramsey, disarmed and guileless in the face of diplomacy. “I only told you about all this, Fred, because it seemed—well, it seemed so kind o' funny to me.”