“Why — yes. It’s a business and manufacturing place.
There are a lot of rich people.”
“I suppose they live in big houses and ride around in big cars, eh?” he demanded.
Then, without waiting for a reply, he went on: “Do they have good things to eat?
What?”
She laughed awkwardly, puzzled and confused.
“Why, yes.
There’s a great deal of German cooking.
Do you like German cooking?”
“Beer!” he muttered lusciously.
“Beer — eh?
You make it out there?”
“Yes.”
She laughed, with a voluptuous note in her voice.
“I believe you’re a bad boy, Eugene.”
“And what about the theatres and libraries?
You have lots of shows, don’t you?”
“Yes.
A lot of good shows come to Indianapolis. All the big hits in New York and Chicago.”
“And a library — you have a big one, eh?”
“Yes. We have a nice library.”
“How many books has it?”
“Oh, I can’t say as to that.
But it’s a good big library.”
“Over 100,000 books, do you suppose?
They wouldn’t have half a million, would they?”
He did not wait for an answer, he was talking to himself.
“No, of course not.
How many books can you take out at a time? What?”
The great shadow of his hunger bent over her; he rushed out of himself, devouring her with his questions.
“What are the girls like?
Are they blonde or brunette? What?”
“Why, we have both kinds — more dark than fair, I should say.”
She looked through the darkness at him, grinning.
“Are they pretty?”
“Well! I can’t say.
You’ll have to draw your own conclusions, Eugene.
I’m one of them, you know.”
She looked at him with demure lewdness, offering herself for inspection.
Then, with a laugh of teasing reproof, she said: “I believe you’re a bad boy, Eugene.
I believe you’re a bad boy.”
He lighted another cigarette feverishly.
“I’d give anything for a smoke,” muttered “Miss Brown.”
“I don’t suppose I could here?”
She looked round her.
“Why not?” he said impatiently.
“There’s no one to see you.
It’s dark.
What does it matter anyway?”
Little electric currents of excitement played up his spine.