“There won't be any man get me,” retorted Abby. “I've seen all I want to see of men, working with 'em every day.”
“Mebbe they have of you,” called back the young fellow, going away.
“The saucy thing!” said the girl who stitched next to Abby.
“There isn't any excuse for a man's eating his dinner with hands like that,” said Abby. “It's worse to poison yourself with your own dirt than with other folks'. It hurts your own self more.”
“He ain't worth minding,” said the girl.
“Do you suppose I do mind him?” returned Abby. Maria looked at her meaningly. The young man, whose name was Edison Bartlett, had once tried to court Abby, but neither she nor Maria had ever told of it.
“His clothes were a pearl gray,” said the girl at the stitching-machine, reverting to the original subject.
“Good gracious, who cares what color they were?” cried Abby, impatiently.
“He looked awful handsome in 'em,” said the girl. “He's awful handsome.”
“You'd better look at handsome fellows in your own set, Sadie Peel,” said Abby, roughly.