As he was going out, Betty Jornsen, with her two grips, came in and blocked up his exit.
She had evidently wearied of waiting at the corner, and had determined to investigate matters for herself.
Sol made to brush past. Suddenly he stopped. He looked at Betty. He stared. His eyes became big and nearly popped out of his head in his amazement.
Betty looked up at him in surprise.
They gaped thus at each other for a few seconds, then Sol staggered to the side of the door and leaned against it, breathing hard as if he had run a mile.
At last he found his tongue and himself, and straightened up.
“Betty,––by gosh! Betty,––little Betty, by Yiminy!” he exclaimed, throwing his long arms about her, knocking her grips aside and sending her hat awry. He lifted her up high and kissed her fair on the mouth. He swung her round and round the smithy, all oblivious of his amused spectators.
Meantime, Betty kicked and struggled, and finally succeeded in smacking his face loudly with a free hand.
Sol set her down and rubbed his cheek foolishly, white she stamped her foot at him.
“You great big––great big––boob!” she cried.