So, then, when
Chug went out with a girl it was likely to be by way of someone's
kitchen; or with one of those who worked in the rag room at the paper
and pulp mill. They were the very girls who switched up and down in
front of the garage evenings and Saturday afternoons. Many of them had
been farm girls in Michigan or northern Wisconsin or even Minnesota. In
Chippewa they did housework. Big, robust girls they were, miraculously
well dressed in good shoes and suits and hats. They had bad teeth, for
the most part, with a scum over them; over-fond of coffee; and were
rather dull company. But they were good-natured, and hearty, and
generous.

The paper-mill girls were quite another type. Theirs was a grayish
pallor due to lungs dust-choked from work in the rag room. That same
pallor promised ill for future generations in Chippewa. But they had a
rather appealing, wistful fragility. Their eyes generally looked too big
for their faces. They possessed, though, a certain vivacity and
diablerie that the big, slower-witted Swede girls lacked.

When Chug felt the need of a dash of red in the evening he had little
choice. In the winter he often went up to Woodman's Hall. The dances at
Woodman's Hall were of the kind advertised at fifty cents a couple.
Extra lady, twenty-five cents. Ladies without gents, thirty-five cents.
Bergstrom's two-piece orchestra. Chug usually went alone, but he
escorted home one of the ladies-without-gents. It was not that he
begrudged the fifty cents. Chug was free enough with his money. He went
to these dances on a last-minute impulse, almost against his will, and
out of sheer boredom. Once there he danced every dance and all the
encores. The girls fought for him. Their manner of dancing was cheek to
cheek, in wordless rhythm. His arm about the ample waist of one of the
Swedish girls, or clasping close the frail form of one of the mill
hands, Chug would dance on and on, indefatigably, until the music played
"Home Sweet Home." The conversation, if any, varied little.

"The music's swell to-night," from the girl.

"Yeh."

"You're some little dancer, Chug, I'll say. Honest, I could dance with
you forever." This with a pressure of the girl's arm, and spoken with a
little accent, whether Swedish, Belgian, or Slavic.

"They all say that."

"Crazy about yourself, ain't you!"

"Not as crazy as I am about you," with tardy gallantry.

He was very little stirred, really.

"Yeh, you are. I wish you was.