"Yes; an' if I don't run out of 'em purty soon I 'll have to hunt a solid, immovable corner somewheres; an' there ain't nothin' solid or immovable about this room at present," he growled. "What you allus drinkin' to somethin' for? Well, here's a toast—I don't know any more fancy ones. Here's to—you!"
"That's nicer than—oh, pshaw!" she exclaimed, pouting. "An' you would n't drink a full glass to that one. You must think I 'm nice, when you renig like that! Don't tell me any more pretty things—an' stop right where you are! Think you can hang onto me after that? Well, that's better; why didn't you do it th' first time? You can be a nice boy when you want to."
He flushed angrily. "Will you stop callin' me a boy?" he demanded unsteadily. "I ain't no kid! I do a man's work, earn a man's pay, an' I spend it like a man."
"An' drink a boy's drink," she teased. "You 'll grow up some day." She reached forward and filled his glass again, for an instant letting her cheek touch his. Swiftly evading him she laughed and patted him on the head. "Here, man," she taunted, "drink this if you dare!"
He frowned at her but gulped down the liquor. "There, like a fool!" he grumbled, bitterly. "You tryin' to get me drunk?" he demanded suddenly in a heavy voice.
She threw back her head and regarded him coldly. "It will do me no good. Why should I? I merely wanted to see if you would take a dare, if you were a man. You are either not sober now, or you are insultingly impolite. I don't care to waste any more words or time with you," and she turned haughtily toward the door.
He had leaned against the piano, but now he lurched forward and cried out. "I 'm sorry if I hurt yore feelin's that way—I shore didn't mean to. Ain't we goin' to make up?" he asked, anxiously.
"Do you mean that?" she demanded, pausing and looking around.
"You know I do, Annie. Le's make up—come on; le's make up."
"Well; I'll try you, an' see."