“Oh, you can’t imagine! Year after year!”
He was sorry for her.
“But you’ll be getting married one of these days,” he assured her gallantly.
“There’s no one here to marry,” she said.
They had come into the brightly lighted Main Street, and Tommy became somewhat distrait. He was wondering what sort of impression he was producing on the natives. They were observing him. He saw girls turn to stare after him, and a group of youths on a corner snickered as he passed.
All this pleased him. He swung his stick and strolled on with exquisite indifference. The little thing, he fancied, must be admiring him tremendously.
But she wasn’t. He was undoubtedly causing a sensation, this lofty stranger from the city with his remarkable clothes; but his smooth face was too innocent, his manner, for all its swagger, too ridiculously boyish. He was more or less stupid to this maiden accustomed to the loutish gallantries of the corner loafer, to facile caresses and furtive advances. He was insipid—“slow,” she called him to herself; but of course he could be taught.
Coming to Egbert’s Drug Store, they went in, at Tommy’s suggestion, and each of them had a glass of soda. She did feel a certain triumph then, at his manners and his handful of change.
It was dark when they returned to the house.
“Would you like to sit on the porch?” she asked. “All right! Let’s bring the hammock around.”