He shook his head.
“Nobody cares.”
Myra hesitated.
“I care.”
Something stirred within Amory.
“Oh, yes, you do! You got a crush on Froggy Parker. I guess everybody knows that.”
“No, I haven’t,” very slowly.
A silence, while Amory thrilled. There was something fascinating about Myra, shut away here cosily from the dim, chill air. Myra, a little bundle of clothes, with strands of yellow hair curling out from under her skating cap.
“Because I’ve got a crush, too—” He paused, for he heard in the distance the sound of young laughter, and, peering through the frosted glass along the lamp-lit street, he made out the dark outline of the bobbing party. He must act quickly. He reached over with a violent, jerky effort, and clutched Myra’s hand—her thumb, to be exact.
“Tell him to go to the Minnehaha straight,” he whispered. “I wanta talk to you—I got to talk to you.”