“Do you know, Cherokee,” whispers Faro Nell, as her eyes turn softly to that personage of the deal box, “I don't like killin's none! I'd sooner Cheyenne goes loose, than two bonnets from Tucson!”
At this Cherokee Hall pinches the cheek of Faro Nell with a delicate accuracy born of his profession, and smiles approval.
BLIGHTED
(By the Office Boy)
Is it hauteur, or is it a maiden's coyness which causes you to turn away your head, love?”
George D'Orsey stood with his arm about the willowy form of Imogene O'Sullivan. The scene was the ancestral halls of the O'Sullivans in the fashionable north-west quarter of Harlem. George D'Orsey had asked Imogene O'Sullivan to be his bride. That was prior to the remark which opened our story. And the dear girl softly promised. The lovers stood there in the gloaming, drinking that sweet intoxication which never comes but once.
“It isn't hauteur, George,” replied Imogene O'Sullivan, in tones like far-off church bells. “But, George!—don't spurn me—I have eaten of the common onion of commerce, and my breath, it is so freighted with that trenchant vegetable, it would take the nap from your collar like a lawn mower. It is to spare the man she loves, George, which causes your Imogene to hold her head aloof.”
“Look up, darling!” and George D'Orsey's tones held a glad note of sympathy, “I, too, have battened upon onions.”