"That fellow wasn't so much," says I to Bonnie Bell.
"What makes you say that, Curly?" says she.
"Well, I heard him talking one morning and I didn't like it. For that matter, I didn't like the way he talked about you neither. I told him we couldn't have nothing to do with the lower classes—let alone now, when we're alderman, we couldn't do that. He was fired and he ought to of been."
"How did you come to know all this, Curly?" says she.
"I heard him down at the boathouse talking to Old Lady Wisner. I think we're mighty well shut of the whole bunch of them—though I will say he was learning to rope all right, and I could of made a cowhand out of him if I'd had time."
"What did she say, Curly?" she asked me then, "Did she really talk about us?"
"Yes, she did. She thought you was a hired girl. And she says we was can-nye, and he wasn't to mix with us. Can-nye—what is can-nye, Bonnie?" says I.
She got red in the face and was shore mad at something.
"Can-nye, eh!" says she. "Can-nye! So that's what she thinks we are."
"Well, that was before we was alderman," says I. "Maybe they think different now, whatever can-nye is. What is it, anyway?"