"Come, sister, let's catch the five-eighteen."
"You better run along before you get me all rubbed the wrong way. At five-eighteen I'll be buying my own meal ticket, let me tell you that."
"Then buy your own meal ticket, if that's what's hurting you, little touchy, and come out on the eight-eighteen. It's only a thirty-minute run; and if you say the word I'll be at the station with bells on to meet you. Come on. I'll show you the Christmas Eve of your life. Be a sport, Marjie."
"Yes, I always say, inviting a girl to be a sport is a slick way of inviting her to Hades. I've seen where being a sport lands a girl, I have. I ain't game, maybe, but, thank God, I ain't. Thank God, I ain't, is what I always say to them."
"Well, of all the funny little propositions."
"Well, there's nothing funny about your proposition."
"You're one funny little girl, but, gee! I like you."
There was that in his glance and the white flash of his teeth and the pomaded air of geniality about him that sent a quick network of thrills darting through her; all her perceptions rose, and her color.
"Come on, little girl."
"Oh," she cried, clenching her small tan hand, and a tempest of fury flashing across her face, "you—you fresh fellows up-town here think just because you wear good clothes and can hold down a decent job, that you—you can put up any kind of a proposition to a girl like me. Oh—oh, just every one of you!"