“Hello!” he said.
“Well?” I replied.
“Is that the way you greet me, Bab?”
“It’s the way I would greet most any Left-over,” I said. “I eat hash at school, but I don’t have to pretend to like it.”
“I came to see you.”
“How youthfull of you!” I replied, in stinging tones.
He sat down on a Bench and stared at me.
“What’s got into you lately?” he said. “Just as you’re geting to be the prettiest girl around, and I’m strong for you, you—you turn into a regular Rattlesnake.”
The kindness of his tone upset me considerably, to who so few kind Words had come recently. I am compeled to confess that I wept, although I had not expected to, and indeed shed few tears, although bitter ones.
How could I posibly know that the chaste Salute of Eddie Perkins and my head on Carter Brooks’ shoulder were both plainly visable against the rising moon? But this was the Case, especialy from the house next door.