When he returned, almost an hour later, he heard them both laughing
long before he came into view, and on the way back up the hill the girl
detailed for him much of her conversation with Fat Joe.
"Hereafter I shall be more dignified when in your presence," she
informed him in as deep a bass as she could summon. "I had no idea how
great and important a man was escorting me when I came down this hill!
But Mr. Morgan has enlightened me."
With that she discovered that she could still tease him, almost as
easily as she had teased the sturdy small boy of the uncouth shoes and
napping trousers.
"Joe is necessarily prejudiced in his opinion," he argued, "and
therefore shouldn't be taken too seriously."
"He told me that you had one regrettable characteristic, however," the
girl went on. "He lamented your strength at the ancient and honorable
pastime of stud-poker! And he also bewails your taste in literature.
Why, he tells me that you are indicted to Dickens and Dumas--he didn't
pronounce it that way, either--and even fall back upon Shakespeare, in
dark and dour hours. No, I am positive that Mr. Morgan docs not
approve of such fiction. He confided to me that he finds more
entertainment, of a winter's night, in perusing a Sears-Roebuck or a
Montgomery-Ward catalogue. And--and do you know what I admitted to
him? No? Well, I told him that some of the happiest moments of my
life had been spent in just such fashion.
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