"Look at your stud—loose."
He jammed a diamond whip curling back upon itself into his maroon scarf. He was slightly heavy, so that his hands dimpled at the knuckle, and above the soft collar, joined beneath the scarf with a goldbar pin, his chin threatened but did not repeat itself.
"I got to go now, Charley; there's a North End car coming."
"Aw, now, sweetness, what's the idea? Didn't you walk down here to pick me up?"
An immediate flush stung her face.
"Well, of all the darn conceit! Can't a girl walk down to the loop to catch her car and stretch her legs after she's been cooped up all day, without a few of you boys throwing a bouquet or two at yourselves?"
"I got to hand it you, Loo; when you walk down this street, you make every girl in town look warmed over."
"Do you like it, Charley? It's that checked jacket I bought at Hamlin's sale last year made over."
"Say, it's classy! You look like all the money in the world, honey."
"Huh, two yards of coat-lining, forty-four cents, and Ida Bell's last year's office-hat reblocked, sixty-five."