Miss Bauers, goaded to revolt, would say pettishly: “You’re like a mosquito, that’s what. Person never knows from one minute to the other where you’re at.”

“Yeh,” Nick would retort. “When you know where a mosquito’s at, what do you do to him? Plenty. I ain’t looking to be squashed.”

Miss Ahearn, whose public position (the Hygienic Barber Shop. Gent’s manicure, 50c.) offered unlimited social opportunities, would assume a gay indifference. “They’s plenty boys begging to take me out every hour in the day. Swell lads, too. I ain’t waiting round for any greasy mechanic like you. Don’t think it. Say, lookit your nails! They’d queer you with me, let alone what else all is wrong with you.”