As the punt touched at the landing platform below Sylvia's house the fellow did not get out, but gave the call of an ibis—a weird, beautifully mystic call that is rarely heard and almost impossible to imitate. Smilax appreciated this, for he grunted: "Good."
The door opened and the Indian woman looked out.
"Hey, there, Echochee," he said. "I got a present from the boss."
She slammed the door, and I do not know when in my life I was ever so charmed by this simple act.
"Then you go to hell," he drawled. "But I tell yer this: the boss said if no one come down to git it, for me to leave it in yer parler."
While Echochee had slammed the door she was evidently listening; for now she came out again, a picture of fury, crying:
"Don't you put foot here!"
"Then come an' git it," he carelessly replied.
She hesitated.
"Lay um down, then go back. Me get um."