"Isn't it the worst luck! I got an aunt comin' to visit from Chicago, and she's crazy about playing 'Five Hundred,' and Mama and Papa said I haf to stay in to make four to play it.

She's liable to be here three or four days, and I guess I got to be around home pretty much all the time she's here.
It's the worst luck!" He was doleful, but ventured to be literary.

"Well, what can't be helped must be endured.

I'll come around when she's gone." He moved as if to depart, but she still retained his arm and did not prepare to relinquish it.
"Well--" he said.
"Well what, Ramsey ?" "Well--g'night." She glanced up at the dark front of the house.

"I guess the family's gone to bed," she said, absently.
"I s'pose so." "Well, good-night, Ramsey." She said this but still did not release his arm, and suddenly, in a fluster, he felt that the time he dreaded had come.