HICKORY DOCK
the Chronic Quarrel began to fester a little round its edges.
One night in November, when Hickory Dock was nearly a year old in love, the Chronic Quarrel came to a climax. The Man was very listless that evening, and absent-minded, and altogether inadequate. The Girl accused him of indifference. He accused her in return of a shrewish temper. She suggested that perhaps he regretted his visit. He failed to contradict her. Then the Girl drew her self up to an absurd height for so small a creature and said stiffly,—
"You don't have to come next Sunday night if you don't want to."
At her scathing words the Man straightened up very suddenly in his chair and gazed over at the little clock in a startled sort of way.
"Why, of course I shall come," he retorted impulsively, "Hickory Dock needs me, if you don't."
"Oh, come and wind the clock by all means," flared the Girl. "I'm glad something needs you!"
Then the Man followed his own judgment and went home, though it was only ten o clock.
"I'm not going to write to him this week," sobbed poor Rosalie. "I think he's very disagreeable."
But when the next Sunday came and the Man
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