"Say, he ain't got but one chin, and he's only twenty-three years old." He felt that the inference was too plain to be ignored.
She turned her head slowly and looked Grant over with an air of disparagement, while she nodded negligently as an acknowledgment to the introduction.

"Pete thinks he's awfully witty," she remarked.

"It's really pathetic." Pete bristled--as much as a fat man could bristle on so hot a day.
"Well, you said you wanted to flirt, and so I took it for granted you'd like--" Good Indian looked straight past the girl, and scowled at Pete.
"Pete, you're an idiot ordinarily, but when you try to be smart you're absolutely insufferable.

You're mentally incapable of recognizing the line of demarcation between legitimate persiflage and objectionable familiarity.

An ignoramus of your particular class ought to confine his repartee to unqualified affirmation or the negative monosyllable." Whereupon he pulled his hat more firmly upon his head, hunched his shoulders in disgust, remembered his manners, and bowed to Miss Georgie Howard, and stalked out, as straight of back as the Indian whose blanket he brushed, and who may have been, for all he knew, a blood relative of his.
"I guess that ought to hold you for a while, Pete," Miss Georgie approved under her breath, and stared after Grant curiously.