“Look now, my dear, and see if you have not my wrist.”
That was the blow that killed mother, for she still held my wrist, although I had dropped the folder. Here a bit of color mounted the pale, wrinkled cheeks.
“I love to see a pretty woman blush,” said I, smiling from ear to ear.
“You shet your mouth. I ain’t blushin’! I wish my brother was here. I’d make him crack your head.”
“Your brother—where is your husband or your son?”
“I ain’t got none, as I have never been married.”
“O, I see; you are still enjoying single bliss—a charming old maid?”
“It’s none of your bizness what I am. You’ve got nuthin’ to do with me.”
Passengers several seats back and front were listening to the controversy, which had been fast and sharp, and enjoying it.
“Well, good soul, I will leave you if you will give me my time-table.”