They each took another long pull at the bottle and then drove for some time in silence.
"Is she dark or fair, Jerry?" asked Jabez out of the silence.
"She's dark," admitted Jerry, the mellowing influence of the whiskey beginning to overcome his boyish bashfulness and natural taciturnity. "But her skin hain't dark. On'y her eyes an' hair is dark. Her skin is all creamy colored an' her cheeks is pink like brier roses. No, not like brier roses—a pinker pink—more like peach blossoms."
"Huh," grunted Jabez thoughtfully. "'Tain't Judy Pippinger, is it?"
"Yump." Then after a pause, "Would yuh say Judy Pippinger was a harlot?" Jerry looked belligerently at Jabez.
The older man was too surprised by the question even to notice the young fellow's attitude of challenge. He gave a start of shocked astonishment.
"A harlot! My gawd no, Jerry. Judy Pippinger hain't but a little gal! I allus liked that little gal. She seems more like a boy. It's on'y lately she's begun to know she's a gal an' not a boy. Too bad she hain't a boy."
He fell silent for a time, musing.
"Waal, haow's the courtin' a-comin' on?" he asked at last. "Is the day set yet?"
"No, it hain't."