"Where do you live? Say, where do you?" he demanded.
"I—I don't know." The woman laughed.
"Why, yes, you do, Cissy. Tell him directly, now."
She put one tiny finger in her mouth.
"I—I gueth I live on Chethnut Thtreet," he called as the door slammed and shut her in.
His sister amicably offered him half the plush bag to carry, and opened a running criticism of the afternoon.
"Did you ever see anybody act like that Fannie Leach? She's awfully rough. Miss Dorothy spoke to her twice—wasn't that dreadful? What made you dance all the time with Cissy Weston? She's an awful baby—a regular fraid-cat! We girls tease her just as easy—do you like her?"
"She's the prettiest one there!"
"Why, Dick Pendleton, she is not! She's so little—she's not half so pretty as Agnes, or—or lots of the girls. She's such a baby. She puts her finger in her mouth if anybody says anything at all. If you ask her a single thing she does like this: 'I don't know, I don't know!'"
He smiled scornfully. Did he not know how she did it?