This was the way the factory young men had of disclosing their preferences. It was considered quite proper for a young man and a young woman to “go together” for months, or even years, and for one to “throw off” on the other, when attracted by a fresher face, with no explanation or apology.
“Well,” whispered Belle Church, “I guess there ain’t one of us but’s been threw off on some time or other, so we know how it feels. But this is worse. He’s been goin’ with her more’n a year—an then to stop off so sudden!”
“It’s better to stop off sudden than slow,” said Matt Wilson, with an air of grim wisdom. “It hurts worse, but it don’t hurt so long. Well, if I ever! Just look at that!”
Out of sheer pity Frank Haddon had sidled out of a group of young men and made his way hesitatingly to Zarelda. “’Reldy,” he said, “don’t you want to—want to—take a walk, too?”
The girl’s eyes flamed at him. She knew that he was pitying her, and she was not of a nature to accept pity meekly. “No!” she flashed out, with scorn. “I don’t want to—want to”—mimicking his tone—“take a walk, too. If I did, I guess I know the road.”
She went upstairs, holding her head high.
When Zarelda went home that evening she found the family already at the supper table. The Winsers were not very particular about their home manners.
“We don’t wait on each other here,” Mrs. Winser explained, frequently, with pride, to her neighbors. “When a meal’s done, on the table it goes in a jiffy, an’ such of us as is here, eat. I just put the things back in the oven an’ keep ’em hot for them that ain’t on hand.”
Zarelda was compelled to pass through the kitchen to reach the stairs.
“Well, ’Reldy,” said her mother, “you’re here at last, be you? Hurry up an’ wash yourself. Your supper’s in the oven, but I guess the fire’s about out. It does beat all how quick it goes out. Paw, I do wish you’d hump yourself an’ git some dry wood. It ’u’d try the soul of a saint to cook with that green stuff. Sap fairly oozes out of it!”