FLAMING
“I do that, too.
YOUTH
155
And sometimes I cry at myself.
All
night.” “Do you?” He scrutinised her. “At your age? What do you cry about?” “Just about myself. Because nothing seems worth while except—except queer things.” “That’s morbid. Or else it’s a pose.” “It isn’t a pose. I even don’t like school as much as I did. Bobs, I want to leave after this term. D’you think if you went to Dad you could talk him into letting me?” “Much more likely that you could. What’s your plan? Launch yourself socially on a waiting world?” “Don’t be spit-catty; it doesn’t suit you. No; I want to come back home and run the house for Dad and have some fun. I’ve been taking domestic science, and I know I could do it better than Con. She’d be glad to be
rid of the bother, anyway. I thought I’d work at music, too. Do you think I could do anything with my voice, Bobs?” “Don’t ask me. Any crow knows more music than I do. I think it would be good for you to tackle anything steady and regular. It would keep you from being too introspective.” “Nice Bobs, to give me all the big words for nothing! That means that I think too much about myself, doesn’t -
it? I know I do. And I talk too much about myself too. I came over here just to talk about myself and te get you to talk about me,” she confessed simply. With’an air of considered
maturity,
she added:
fun for me to talk to boys of my own
“It isn’t much
age.
They’re
always wanting to tell you about themselves, or else to
make love to you. Generally it’s love-stuff.” “Indeed! Do you go in much for that particular indoor sport, Pat?”
