“Every teeny bit of it,” she flung back.
“Have yore own way. I know you will anyhow,” he conceded.
“An’ what are you a little lower than?”
“I’m a heap lower than one angel I know.”
She stamped her foot. “You’re no such thing. You’re as good as any one—and better.”
“I wouldn’t say better,” he murmured ironically. None the less he was feeling quite cheerful again. He enjoyed being put through his catechism by her.
“Trouble with you is you’re so meek,” she stormed. “You let anybody run it over you till they go too far. What’s the use of crying your own goods down? Tell the world you’re Bob Dillon and for it to watch your dust.”
“You want me to brag an’ strut like Jake Houck?”
“No-o, not like that. But Blister’s right. You’ve got to know your worth. When you’re sure of it you don’t have to tell other people about it. They know.”
He considered this. “Tha’s correct,” he said.