“You might,” with the slightest accent on the pronoun.
“Let’s try,” he countered.
From that moment he devoted himself to the “little Bryce girl.” He rode with her, walked with her, talked with her, roared with amusement over her diablerie, until all tongues clacked about it. Mrs. Andrews left, in a huff.
“You’ve got to stop it, Wally,” Max ordered. “Every one is talking.”
“How can I stop it? You never should have brought her here.”
“Well, I’m not going to leave because she makes a fool of herself, so you can just take a hand.”
About this time a group of enthusiasts decided to get up an entertainment. With fear and trembling they asked the great actor to take part.
“How would you like to act a play with me, Cricket?” he asked her, in the tone of a god condescending to mortal.