"Now, Mil, I bet anything you're still feeling sore about last night.
Aren't you?"
"Sore? It ain't my business, Phonzie, if you can stay out till one o'clock one night and the next want to begin the same thing over again."
"We had to stick around last night, Mil. Gert was drawing off the models under her handkerchief and on the dance program. That's how we got the yellow charmeuse, just by keeping after it and drawing it line for line."
"I know, I know."
"Then give me a kiss and when I come back maybe—maybe I'll bring you a surprise up my sleeve, hon."
She sat beside her cold meal, tears scratching her eyes like blown grit. "It's like I told you this morning, Phonzie; when you get tired, all you got to do is remember I got the new trunk standing right behind the cretonne curtains, and I can pack my duds any day in the week and find a welcome over at—at Ida May's."
"Mil, ain't you ashamed!"
"Why, I could pack up and—and find a welcome there right to-night, if the kid wasn't too little for the night air."
"Mil, honest, I—I just don't know what to make of you. I—I've just lost my nerve about going now."
"I'm not going to be the one to say stay."