“I’ll tell you,” she added, “the morrow.”
And she would keep me in torture!
“There’ll be no to-morrow for we,” I flashed, in a passion. “You cares nothing for Dannie Callaway. ’Tis my foot,” I cried, stamping in rage and resentment. “’Tis my twisted foot. I’m nothin’ but a cripple!”
She cried out at this.
“A limpin’ cripple,” I groaned, “t’ be laughed at by all the maids o’ Twist Tickle!”
She began now softly to weep. I moved towards the ladder––with the will to abandon her.
“Dannie,” she called, “take the kiss.”
I would not.
“Take two,” she begged.
“Maid,” said I, severely, “what about your God?”