“But, Will, he'd never give it to me on my say-so. He'd never let me go away. You know how Dave is: so jolly and liberal in society, and oh, just LOVES to match quarters, and such a perfect sport if he loses! But at home he pinches a nickel till the buffalo drips blood. I have to nag him for every single dollar.”
“Sure, I know, but it's your fight, honey. Keep after him. He'd simply resent my butting in.”
He crossed over and patted her shoulder. Outside the window, beyond the fly-screen that was opaque with dust and cottonwood lint, Main Street was hushed except for the impatient throb of a standing motor car. She took his firm hand, pressed his knuckles against her cheek.
“O Will, Dave is so mean and little and noisy—the shrimp! You're so calm. When he's cutting up at parties I see you standing back and watching him—the way a mastiff watches a terrier.”
He fought for professional dignity with, “Dave 's not a bad fellow.”
Lingeringly she released his hand. “Will, drop round by the house this evening and scold me. Make me be good and sensible. And I'm so lonely.”
“If I did, Dave would be there, and we'd have to play cards. It's his evening off from the store.”
“No. The clerk just got called to Corinth—mother sick. Dave will be in the store till midnight. Oh, come on over. There's some lovely beer on the ice, and we can sit and talk and be all cool and lazy. That wouldn't be wrong of us, WOULD it!”
“No, no, course it wouldn't be wrong. But still, oughtn't to——” He saw Carol, slim black and ivory, cool, scornful of intrigue.
“All right. But I'll be so lonely.”