She pushed back his face from her and looks at him; and says she, right sober:
"Dad," she says, "you mustn't ever really ask me that. You're the best man in all the world—and so is Curly."
"No, we ain't," says he. "The best man hasn't really showed yet for you, sis."
"Why, dad," says she, "I'm only a young girl!"
"You're the finest-looking young girl in this town," says he, "and the town knows it."
"Huh!" says she, and sniffs up her nose. "It don't act much like it."
"If I can believe my eyes," says her pa, "when I walk out with you a good many people seem to know it."
"That don't count, dad," says she. "Men, and even women, look at a girl on the street—men at her ankles and women at her clothes; but that doesn't mean anything. That doesn't get you anywhere. That isn't being anybody. That doesn't mean that you are one of the best people."
"And you want to be one of the best people—is that it, sis?"
She set her teeth together and her eyes got bright.