"You said something then, all right," Quard approved humbly. "I can't blame you for feeling that way about it. But le' me tell you an honest fact: I ain't touched a drop of anything stronger'n buttermilk since that night—so help me Klaw and Erlanger!"
"Why?"
"Well, I guess I must've took a tumble to myself. Anyhow, when I got over the katzenjammer thing, I thought it all out and made up my mind it was up to me to behave for the balance of my sentence."
"Is that so?" Joan asked, pausing definitely on the corner at Forty-fifth Street.
"I know I can," Quard asserted convincingly. "Believe me, Joan, I hate the stuff! I'd as lief stake myself to a slug of sulphuric. No, on the level: I'm booked for the water-tank route for the rest of my natural."
"I'm awful glad," observed the girl maliciously. "It's so nice for your mother. Well ... g'dafternoon!"
"Hold on!" Quard protested. "I'll walk down to the house with you."
"No, you won't," she returned promptly.
"Why not?"
"I don't want you to."