"Before I'd let a girl like Cora Kinealy have all the beaus! I bet she'd ask him."
"It—it just ain't in me, ma. The other girls do, I know—you ought to heard the way Mabel Runyan was kiddin' a fellow in the silks to-day—it just ain't in me to."
"Nowadays, young men got to be made to feel welcome."
"I just don't seem to take."
"'I'll be pleased to have you call of a Saturday night, Mr. So-and-so.' No one could say there's anything but the genteel in that. Those are just the words I used to say to your poor father when he was courtin'."
"If only I—I wouldn't turn all red!"
"I bet Cora Kinealy would have asked him." "I—I'll ask him, ma."
When Stella Schump was adjusting her black sleevelets next morning, somewhat obviously oblivious of the optical department across the aisle, a blond, oiled head leaned out at her.
"Mornin'. Goo-goo!"
A flush that she could feel rush up and that would not be controlled threw her into a state of agitation that was almost abashing to behold.