She went off in her automobile, and I stood on the step looking after her. The very thought that there could be anybody in the world like her, that would do what she'd done, made me feel like I understood the earth. I told Mis' Bingy, and she sat a long time looking out the window with her mouth open.
"If Keddie had done that," she says, "I bet a quarter of a pound of tea, I'd blame the girl."
I'd have thought everybody would. We talked it over.
"Mis' Bingy," I says, "maybe they's ways to be decent we don't even know about."
She kep' her mouth open. "Then who's to blame if we don't act up to 'em, I donno," she says, after a while.
"I donno, too," I says. "It must be somebody, though."
And we both thought it must be.
The next day was Sunday, and Mis' Bingy and I done what we'd been going to do for a long time. We walked up to the park, and inside the big building where the pictures are. Mis' Bingy set on a bench and fed the baby, while I wandered round.
I guess you're supposed to feel nice and real awed when you first go to that big place. I guess you're supposed to be glad you live in a city where they're free to you. I thought I was going to have a good time. But instead of that I kept getting madder and madder. Once I begun to talk out loud, and I was afraid they'd put me out. It was when I come to a big room full of statues, with one big white one that said under it "Apollo." I'd never heard the name. I says to the man in the hall: