"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." She was about to object, but he continued quickly.
"Where you MEET your gentlemen friends is beyond me. I don't introduce
them to you."
"I should say not," agreed Zoie, and there was a touch of vindictiveness
in her voice. "The only male creature that you ever introduced to me was
the family dog."
"I introduce every man who's fit to meet you," declared Alfred with an
air of great pride.
"That doesn't speak very well for your acquaintances," snipped Zoie.
Even HER temper was beginning to assert itself.
"I won't bicker like this," declared Alfred.
"That's what you always say, when you can't think of an answer,"
retorted Zoie.
"You mean when I'm tired of answering your nonsense!" thundered Alfred.