It was getting awful hard to remember to act nice, and I spilled over.
"You got the ways of a hitching-post," I says; "but you ain't got the tie-strap." And I walked out and left him there.
Two nights he run his car down to the door where he'd found I come out. Once I pretended not to see him, and run and caught a street-car. Once he jumped out and walked along beside me, and the girls fell back. I told him Mis' Bingy and I were going to have a banquet of wieners, fried on the gas-jet, and I couldn't come. He put a note in my hand, he never seemed to care what anybody thought, I noticed that about him.
Mis' Bingy and I read the note, while the wieners were frying.
"Don't keep me waiting," it said. "I want to see you the glorious creature you could be if you had the training you say you want. Music, riding, whatever you ask for, you shall have it all, on my honor. Don't I deserve a little more confidence from you?
A. C."
Mis' Bingy rocked back and forth on the bed.
"Cossy Wakely," she said, "it's my fault, it's my fault. I brung you. Let's us go back, Cossy, right off. Let's us go back."
"Oh, pshaw, Mis' Bingy!" I says, "I guess he means it right. We're just—vulgar."
"Oh, what a world," says Mis' Bingy. "Ain't there no place women can get shed of men, with their drunkenness and their devilment?"
I couldn't feel that way a bit. "I don't want to," I says. "I want to find the other kind of men. There is them!"