Mrs. Jackson said nothing but went on with her ironing.
"Do you really think I ought to call him?" Mary Jane asked. "Sometimes we used to have a lot of fun together. Though he's so boyish."
Mrs. Jackson still remained silent, and Mary Jane said, "I wonder if he's still at the garage?" She went to the phone and dialed the number.
Woody was so surprised by the call that he could only answer Mary Jane's seemingly very casual questions in nonsyllables. He said yes he was feeling well, and no he hadn't been sick. He almost let Mary Jane hang up before he recovered himself sufficiently to ask her for a date. And when he came away from the phone, he was grinning as he hadn't grinned since he sold the wreckage of Cindy Lou.
"Ye'll be taking yere lassie out tonight, nae doot?" said Worm.
"Yes, sir," said Woody all smiles.
"Nae doot ye'd like a leetle advance on yer pay," Worm went on. "Or are ye fixed for money? I could let ye have maybe a dollar."
"Thanks," said Woody, "but I think I've got enough."
"Weel," said Worm, "dinna spend a lot on her. Them that takes yere money aren't the housekeeping kind."
When Woody called for Mary Jane he had the whole evening planned. He'd borrowed his father's car—a '54 Merc—and was dressed in the dark blue suit that Mary Jane liked. He had spent half an hour cleaning the grease from under his fingernails, and passing a drugstore, had had the happy inspiration to buy a box of candy.