And she must grasp his arm closer and worm through the sidewalk crush, and straighten her velveteen poke so that the curls lay pat; and once or twice she coughed, with the hollow resonance of a chain drawn upward from a deep well.
“Gee, I bet there’ll be a jam!”
“Sure! There’s some live crowd down there.”
They were in the street car, swaying, swinging, clutching; hemmed in by frantic, home-going New York, nose to nose, eye to eye, tooth to tooth. Round Sara Juke’s slim waist lay Charley Chubb’s saving arm, and with each lurch they laughed immoderately, except when she coughed.
“Gee, ain’t it the limit? It’s a wonder they wouldn’t open a window in this car!”
“Nix on that. Whatta you wanna do—freeze a fellow out?”
Her eyes would betray her.
“Any old time I could freeze you, Charley.”
“Honest?”
“You’re the one that freezes me all the time. You’re the one that keeps me guessing and guessing where I stand with you.”