"You've only made me such a laughing stock
that I have to leave it. That's all--that's all!"
"Leave Chicago!" exclaimed Zoie incredulously. Then regaining
her self-composure, she edged her way close to him and looked up
into his eyes in baby-like wonderment. "Why, Allie, where are we
going?" Her small arm crept up toward his shoulder. Alfred
pushed it from him rudely.
"WE are not going," he asserted in a firm, measured voice. "_I_
am going. Where's my hat?" And again he started in search of his
absent headgear.
"Oh, Allie!" she exclaimed, and this time there was genuine alarm
in her voice, "you wouldn't leave me?"
"Wouldn't I, though?" sneered Alfred. Before he knew it, Zoie's
arms were about him--she was pleading desperately.
"Now see here, Allie, you may call me all the names you like,"
she cried with great self-abasement, "but you shan't--you SHAN'T
go away from Chicago."
"Oh, indeed?" answered Alfred as he shook himself free of her.
"I suppose you'd like me to go on with this cat and dog
existence. You'd like me to stay right here and pay the bills
and take care of you, while you flirt with every Tom, Dick and
Harry in town."
"It's only your horrid disposition that makes you talk like
that," whimpered Zoie. "You know very well that I never cared
for anybody but you."
"Until you GOT me, yes," assented Alfred, "and NOW you care for
everybody BUT me.
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