“But,” says Minnie, “if ya go to dinner with him, don't you go near his machine. Steer clear of machines. Eat all ya can off him, but don't do no ridin'.”
“You said it!” again Annie backed her up. Annie was a regular sack slinger. She could have hurled two men off Brooklyn Bridge with one hand. “If you was as big an' strong as me you c'u'd take 'most any chance. I'd like to see a guy try to pull anythin' on me.” I'd like to see him, too.
“Some day”—Minnie wanted to drive her advice home by concrete illustration—“some day a chauffeur'll hold a handkerchief under your nose with somethin' on it. When ya come to, goodness knows where you'll be.”
I began to feel a little as if I'd posed as too innocent.
“You see, out West—” I began.
“My Gawd!”—Minnie waved a hand scornfully—“don't be tryin' to tell me all men are angels out West.”
Just then Miss Hibber poked her head in and we suddenly took ourselves out.
“You go easy, now,” Minnie whispered after me.
I lacked the nerve, anyhow, and they put on the finishing touches. A bricklayer would not have been so bad. How did I know the chauffeur was not working for a friend of mine? That, later on, would make it more embarrassing for him than me. I should think he would want to wring my neck.
It was about time to find a new job, anyhow. But leaving the brassworks is like stopping a novel in the middle. What about Rosie and good looking Bella and her brother she was trying to rescue from the grip of the poolroom? Mame—Mame and her kaleidoscope romances, insults, and adventures? I just hate walking off and leaving it all. And the boss and Miss Hibber so nice to me about everything.