"Inside what?" I gasps.
"Why, the station," says she. "And give the man a quarter for me—there's a dear."
Talk about speed! Leave it to the Dixie girls of this special type. I used to think our Broadway matinée fluffs was about the swiftest fascinators using the goo-goo tactics. But say, when it comes right down to quick action, some of these cotton-belt belles can throw in a high gear that makes our Gwendolyns look like they was only hittin' on odd cylinders. Ella May was a sample. We was havin' our first glimpse of each other, but in less 'n forty-five seconds by the watch she'd called me honey, dearied me twice, and patted me chummy on the arm. And we hadn't driven two blocks before she had me snuggled up in the corner like we was old friends.
"Tell me, Honey," says she, "what is dear old Marjorie's hubby like?"
"Ferdie!" says I. "Why, he's all right when you get to know him."
"Oh!" says she. "That kind! But aren't there any other men around?"
"Only Mr. Robert Ellins," says I.
"Really!" says she, her eyes widenin'! "Bob Ellins! That's nice. I met him once when he came to see Marjorie at boarding school. I was such an infant then, though. But now——"
She dives into her vanity bag and proceeds to retouch the scenic effects on her face.
"Don't waste it," says I. "He's sewed up—a Miss Hampton. She's there, too."