They hate a woman that's common. You'll see a lot of 'em in this game too, fresh and vulgar. But that don't get 'em anywheres. Look at the men, how they fall for the innocent sweet girls. Look at me, for instance. I'm sure gone on you."
He drew her closer to him and she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She wanted to play up to him, to simulate a response, and she couldn't understand why his advances seemed repulsive to her.
Letcher went as far as One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street and Broadway, where Minnie was to take the subway downtown. In the jostling crowd they paused to say good night, Letcher still holding her hand in his.
"There's such a mob around here nobody will see you," he laughed. "Kiss me good night, will you, dearie?" he bent his fat face toward her, his lips puckered ludicrously.
Minnie quickly tempered her action with Letcher's advice. "You know I ain't that kind of a girl," she said, looking hurt.
"But just a little one. There's nothing wrong about a little one."
"I don't think me and you are goin' to be very good friends if you keep this up," she said, drawing away from him, upturning her face so he could see the hurt deepening in her eyes.
"Oh, come now, dearie, I didn't mean anything by it. You're a sweet little kid and I respect you. On my honor, I'd die rather than lose you for a friend."
Minnie smiled charitably and pressed his hand.
"Of course we'll be friends," she said, wondering if she had gone too far, "I'd love to have you come to my house some night and meet my old lady, Mr. Letcher. Ma's an awful good cook. Let me know a day or so in advance and I'll have her get up a chicken stew or some little simple thing like that. She'd be very pleased to meet you. So would my old man."
