"Charley, you--you got so much good in you. The way you sent that wooden leg out to poor old lady Guthrie. The way you made Jimmy Ball go home, and the blind-school boys and all. Why can't you get yourself on the right track where you belong, Charley? Why don't you clear--out--West where it's clean?" "I used to have that idea, Loo. West, where a fellow's got to stand on his own. Why, if I'd have met a girl like you ten years ago, I'd have made you the baby doll of the Pacific Coast. I like you, Loo. I like your style and the way you look like a million dollars. When a fellow walks into a café with you he feels like he's wearing the Hope diamond. Maybe the society in this town has given me the cold shoulder, but I'd like to see any of the safety-first boys walk in with one that's got you beat. That's what I think of you, girl." "Aw, now, you're lighting up. Charley. That's four glasses you've taken." "Thought I was kidding you last night--didn't you--about wedding-bells?" "You were lit up." "I know. You're going to watch your step, little girl, and I don't know as I blame you. You can get plenty of boys my carat, and a lot of other things thrown in I haven't got to offer you." "As if I wouldn't like you, Charley, if you were dead broke!" "Of course you would! There, there, girl, I don't blame any of you for feathering your nest." He was flushed now and above the soft collar, his face had relaxed into a not easily controllable smile. "Feather your nest, girl; you got the looks to do it. It's a far cry from Flamm Avenue to where a classy girl like you can land herself if she steers right. And I wish it to you, girl; the best isn't good enough." "I--I dare you to ask me again, Charley!" "Ask what?" "You know. Throw your head up the way you do when you mean what you say and--ask." He was wagging his head now insistently, but pinioning his gaze with the slightly glassy stare of those who think none too clearly. "Honest, I don't know, beauty. What's the idea?" "Didn't you say yourself--Gerber, out here in Claxton that--magistrate that marries you in verse--" "By gad, I did!" "Well--I--I--dare you to ask me again, Charley." He leaned forward. "You game, girl?" "Sure." "No kidding?" "Try me." "I'm serious, girl." "So'm I." "There's Jess over there can get us a special license from his brother-in-law. Married in verse in Claxton sounds good to me, honey." "But not--the crowd, Charley; just you--and--" "How're we going to get the license, honey, this time of night without Jess? Let's make it a million-dollar wedding. We're not ashamed of nobody or nothing." "Of course not, Charley." "Now, you're sure, honey? You're drawing a fellow that went to the dogs before he cut his canines." "You're not all to the canines yet, Charley." "I may be a black sheep, honey, but, thank God, I got my golden fleece to offer you!" "You're not--black."