“He is waiting for me!”
As we walked home, Jimmy said:
“I couldn’t get away from sis. Gad! that friend of hers may be handsome,
but I hate handsome horses. I like a little pony like you, Marion.”
“Don’t you think I’m handsome then?” I asked mischievously.
“Not by a long shot. You are the most kissable--little--”
“Jimmy, behave yourself. Look at that policeman watching us, and don’t
forget that waiter.”
“Oh, hang policemen and waiters,” growled Jimmy. “What the devil do
_they_ know about kisses?”
“When you want to kiss me, Jimmy Odell,” I said, “you’ll have to come
without that whiskey odor on your breath.”
“Oh, all right-oh!” said Jimmy. “I guess there are others won’t mind
it.”
“No, I guess not,” I sniffed. “Horses haven’t much smelling sense.”