Thurley’s eyes were serious as she answered, “I’m sorry for you. When you’re a man and have a little boy, I hope you’ll bring him up better than you have been brought up. You’ll go to jail, if you keep on acting so wicked.”
“Jail? Why, my pa knows the sheriff an’ everybody. I guess he knows the president.”
“If he knows so many people and is so smart, why don’t he live some place besides this funny town?” Thurley demanded.
This stumped Dan for a moment, then he answered, “His property is here and he can do what he’s a mind to. If he moved to a city, he’d have to get acquainted with all the police and everything—see?”
“I don’t like that. I guess you better not introduce me to your father; I wouldn’t approve of him. I won’t live in a little town. I want to be famous and have every one know me, when I drive through the streets, and have people throw flowers at me, when I sing. I want to do something wonderful—and good!” she ended emphatically.
Stung by the inference, she took hold of his shoulders and gave him a sound shaking. “I told you—sing—sing—sing, you silly boy that can’t spell and eats too much candy. I can sing, and nobody can take that away from me or make me stop.”
She released him unexpectedly, and he fell backwards over the step. He picked himself up in amazement, collecting his thoughts and saying slowly, “If you were a boy, I’d lick you.”
“Dare you—go on—pretend I am a boy.” She thrust her bare foot across the imaginary, forbidden line drawn by opponents.
Dan laughed. “Honest, I like you too much. You ain’t a coward like Lorraine McDowell; she cries if a little bit of a toad hops her way. She likes me more’n I like her and I hate that.”
“Was that Lorraine with the pretty dress?” Thurley’s red lips twitched impatiently.
“Oh, she’s got lots of dresses—she’s always having parties and speaking in school, but she’s a cry-baby. Just because she’s the minister’s daughter she thinks she’s got to be in everything.... Thurley, what words was spelled wrong in that circus poster?” Dan’s dark eyes looked humbly at the new tyrant. “I’m taller’n you,” he could not refrain from adding.
“People—p-e-o-p-l-e—and two ss’s in missing.”
“No, you come and sing, and I’ll write on here, ‘Hear the wonderful singer from way out west; she has travelled miles to get here.’ It’ll be the next best thing to the swinging man.”