I could feel my heart movin’ like a circular saw–two ways fer Sunday. “Honey, what you watchin’?” This time I kinda whispered it.
She reached fer her George Washington, and begun fixin’ to go. “The sky,” she says, some short.
I sighed, and pretended t’ watch the sky, too. It looked yalla, like somebody ’d hit it with a aig.
After while, I couldn’t stand it no longer–I started in again. “Give me a fair shake, Macie,” I says. I was lookin’ at her. Say! they wasn’t no squaw paint on her cheeks, and no do-funny, drug-store stuff in that pretty hair of hern. And them grey eyes––!
But she seemed a hull county off from me, and they was a right cold current blowin’ in my direction.
“Mace,” I begun again, “since you come t’ Noo York you ain’t got you’self promised, ’r nothin’ like that, have you? If you have, I’ll go back and make that Briggs City bunch look like a lot of colanders.”
She shook her haid.
“Aw, Mace!” I says, turrible easied in my mind. “And–and, little gal, has that bug doc been a-holdin’ down a chair at you’ house of Sunday nights?”
“No,–he come just oncet.”
“Why just oncet, honey?”