"Well, I've seen it in the movies," he explained. "What are you sore about?"
"Sore? I'm not sore. What put that into your head?"
The rotund superintendent of the elevator fanned himself lazily with his straw hat.
"If I was fifteen years younger and fifty pounds lighter," said he, "I'd be sore too. But what's the use of a fat old slob like me getting peeved because Miss Alix Crown don't happen to notice me? Oh, we're great friends and all that, mind you, and she thinks a lot of me,—as manager of her grain elevator. Same as she thinks a lot of Jim Bagley, her superintendent,—and Ed Stevens, her chauffeur, and so on. Now, as for you, it's different. You're from New York and it goes against the grain to be overlooked, you might say, by a girl from Indiana. Oh, I know what you New Yorkers think of Indiana,—and all that therein is, as the Scriptures would say. You think that nothing but boobs and corn-fed squaws come from Indiana, but if you hang around long enough you'll find you're mistaken. This state is full of girls like Alix Crown,—bright, smart, good-looking girls that have been a hell of a ways farther east than New York. Of course, there are boobs like me and Doc Simpson and Tintype Hatch who get up to Chicago once every three or four years and have to sew our return trip tickets inside our belly-bands so's we can be sure of getting back home after Chicago gets through admiring us, but now since prohibition has come in I don't know but what we're as bright and clever as anybody else. Most of the fellers I've run across in Chicago seem to be brightest just after they change feet on the rail and ask the bartender if he knows how to make a cucumber cocktail, or something else as clever as that. But that ain't what we were talking about. We were talking about—"
"I wasn't talking about anything," interrupted Courtney.
"Oh, yes, you were," said Charlie. "Not out loud, of course,—but talking just the same. You were talking about Alix Crown and the way she forgot to invite you to take a ride with the rest of—"
"See here, Webster,—are you trying to be offensive?"
"Offensive? Lord, no! I'm just TELLING you, that's all. On the level now, am I right or wrong?"
"I do not know Miss Crown," replied Thane stiffly. "Why should I expect her to ask me,—a total stranger,—to go out in her car?"
"Didn't Maude Pollock introduce you a while ago?"