Standing in the acetylene spotlight the young woman struck Mr. Connors as supremely beautiful. He deplored the necessity of keeping her in a prisoner’s attitude and he admired the calm with which she endured the compulsion. Her eyes even seemed to be dancing a trifle as she looked at the somewhat abject Mr. Burrow.
“Please, Mr. Highwayman,” she naïvely requested, “would you mind if I poured some water into the radiator?” She added reassuringly: “It will keep both hands quite busy. The machine can’t go on until we do that, you know, and we’d like to get home—when you are entirely through with us.”
Mr. Connors considered the proposition.
“Go as far as yer like, lady,” he assented at last. “But let dis gent keep close ernuff fer me ter watch youse both. If his hands comes down, I’m afraid I’ll have to hurt somebody, see?”
As the young woman lifted the full bucket with a surprising strength for such slender arms, the gentleman assured her that he regretted his inability to assist. The young lady laughed.
“Dat will be about all fer dis part of de job,” said Mr. Connors. “Now fer the ambulance.”
“The what?” questioned the young woman.
“I’se sorry ter trouble yer, lady,” apologized Mr. Connors, “but it’s like dis: Dere’s a guy up de railroad track w’at’s got a busted slat. I’se got ter borrow your benzine-buggy ter take him ter a doctor.”
“Now see here, you infernal pirate!” The gentleman took one belligerent step forward and halted abruptly as he recognized how close it brought him to the ominous muzzle. “You’re asking too much!”
“Me?” questioned Mr. Connors in an injured tone. “I ain’t askin’ nothin’. I’m tellin’ yer w’at I wants done, an’ yer don’t need ter git fresh about it, see?”