"Then I could bring you home. I'd have just enough time. I've got to be in camp by eleven."
It was so dark that he could scarcely see her now. She was a dress swayed infinitesimally by the wind, two limpid, reckless eyes ...
"Why don't you come—Dot? Don't you like movies? Better come."
She shook her head.
"I oughtn't to."
He liked her, realizing that she was temporizing for the effect on him. He came closer and took her hand.
"If we get back by ten, can't you? just to the movies?"
"Well—I reckon so—"
Hand in hand they walked back toward down-town, along a hazy, dusky street where a negro newsboy was calling an extra in the cadence of the local venders' tradition, a cadence that was as musical as song.