"Oh, pooh," the girl said, her pigtails swinging. "Do you got a girlfriend, mister?"
"No." Sol struggled towards the house with her dead weight on his leg. "Would you mind? I can't walk."
"Would you be my boyfriend?"
"Well, we'll talk about it. If you let go my leg."
Inside the house, she said: "We're having pot roast. You stayin'?"
"Of course Mr. Becker's stayin'," Mom said. "He's our guest."
"That's very kind of you," Sol said. "I really wish you'd let me pay something—"
"Don't want to hear another word about pay."
Mr. Dawes came home an hour later, looking tired. Mom pecked him lightly on the forehead. He glanced at the evening paper, and then spoke to Sol.