“If you’re going to believe every little bit of tittle-tattle that the women tell you, you won’t have much time for your books.”
“Homer,” said the Judge sternly, “you’re pretty close to bein’ sassy to the best friend you’ve got in the hull world, barrin’ your maw.”
“You’re finding fault with me. And I hate to be picked at. I’m not a kid any more, to be followed and watched and whistled into the house at sundown. I’m a man.”
“Wal, act like a man then.”
“I will if you’ll let me alone. Gambling! Wouldn’t it make you sick! As if a nickel ante hurts anybody! I’ll let this town know that I earn my money and I’ve got a right to do what I please with it.”
“Long as you don’t hurt your maw.”
“She’ll be ready to jump on me, I suppose, when I go home to-night.”
“Or as long as you don’t hurt—Alicia.”
“Alicia? Huh!”—sullenly—“she don’t care anything about me.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken, boy. She likes you, Homer, an’ you like her—don’t you?” He lowered his head, searching the face of the other.