A white-net screen door was unhooked from
without by inserting a hand through a slit in the fabric. An uncarpeted
pocket of hall lay deep in absolute blackness. Miss Hoag fumbled for the
switch, finally leaving the Baron to the meager comfort of his
first-floor back.
"Y'all right, honey? Can you reach what you want?"
The Baron clambered to a chair and up to her. His face had unknotted,
the turmoil of little lines scattering.
"Aw!" he said. "Good old tub, Teenie! Good old Big Tent!"
A layer of tears sprang across Miss Hoag's glance and, suddenly gaining
rush, ran down over her lashes. She dashed at them.
"I'm human, Baron. Maybe you don't know it, but I'm human."
"Now what did I do, Teenie?"
"It--it ain't you, Baron; it--it ain't anybody. It--it's--only I just
wonder sometimes what God had in mind, anyways--making our kind. Where
do we belong--"
"Aw, you're a great Heavy, Teenie--and it's the Bigs and the Littles got
the cinch in this business. Looka the poor Siamese. How'd you like to be
hitched up thataway all day. Looka Ossi. How'd you like to let 'em stick
pins in you all for their ten cents' worth. Looka poor old Jas. Why, a
girl's a fool to waste any heartache gettin' stuck on him.
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