“I don't know. You won't say anything to her, will you, Joe?”
“No, course not. It's funny, that's all. But so long's you don't believe it, I don't suppose I've got any cause for kicking.”
“Of course I don't believe it—not now. Before you'd come back, and after all you'd said about—”
“About what, Estelle?”
“About coming up here for me—and our going away from here—”
“That's it,” he broke in eagerly—“that's just it. I couldn't do it then because I didn't have the ready. But now, you see, I've got a little put by, and there ain't nothing to hinder our clearing out o' here for good.”
“Isn't there, Joe?”
“Not a thing.”
“Oh, I'm so glad. You don't know—you don't know how sick I get of this place, and these men around. I most die with it sometimes—feel as if I could go away alone if I knew of any place to go. Once I thought a little of—of just doing it anyhow, and maybe finding you in Chicago. You've told me where your place is, you know, up on the north side.”
“Yes, I know, but we can do it now.”