This long word being a puzzle to Emily she would have to stop a moment to reflect on its probable meaning before going on.
"So is your brother."
"Yes, but he's not near so nice as I am."
Again there would be a pause, during which Emily would look deeply shocked by this display of vanity—and then:
"It ain't nice to praise one's self," Emily would observe, seriously.
"Well, but it's true," Charley would begin, in an argumentative tone. "Now I ask yourself—don't you think I'm nicer than he is?"
Now, it was Miss Emily's private conviction that he decidedly was, she could not say no, and not wishing to commit herself by saying yes, she would look grave, and remain silent. But Charley, whose shyness generally passed away at this point, was not to be put off, and would insist:
"Now, Emily, just tell the truth, as every well-brought-up little girl should, and say, don't you like me twice as well as you do Rich?"
"Well, ye-es," Emily would reply, hesitatingly, "but I guess he knows more than you do; he looks awfully wise, anyway, and then Georgia minds him, and she don't mind you."
"That's because she isn't capable of appreciating solid wit and hidden genius—or, to use language more fitted for your uncultivated intellect, my young friend—she doesn't know on which side the bread's buttered. Any person with his senses about him would see at a glance I am worth a dozen of Richmond."