"Ruth," he began, shy and stealthy as a boy-lover.
She did not answer him, but the moon lay on her face, firm-set.
"Anything for me to-night?"
He came in upon her with a quiet movement as of wings. She elbowed him off fiercely.
"A-done!" she said. "You're not half-way through yet—nor near it."
He pleaded, coaxing.
"I am a man, Ruth."
She was adamant.
"It's just what you are not," she retorted. He knew she was breathing deep; he did not know how near to tears she was. "You was one time o day—and you might be yet.—You got to work your ticket, my lad."
He drew back.