“Say, Girl, make me a prairie oyster, will you?”
“All, right, Sonora, I’ll fix you right up,” returned the Girl, smiling to herself at his effort. But at the moment that she was reaching for a bottle back of the bar, a terrific whoop came from the dance-hall, and ever-watchful lest the boys’ fun should get beyond her control, she called to her factotum to quiet things down in the next room, concluding warningly: “They’ve had about enough.”
When the barkeeper had gone to do her bidding, the Girl picked up an egg, and, poising it over a glass, she went on:
“Say, look ’ere, Sonora, before I crack this ’ere egg, I’d like to state that eggs is four bits apiece. Only two hens left—” She broke off short, and turning upon Handsome, who had been gradually sidling up until his elbows almost touched hers, she repulsed him a trifle impatiently:
“Oh, run away, Handsome!”
A flush of pleasure at Handsome’s evident discomfiture spread over Sonora’s countenance, and comical, indeed, to the Girl, was the majestic air he took on when he ordered recklessly:
“Oh, crack the egg—I’ll stand for it.”
But Sonora’s fancied advantage over the others was of short duration, for the next instant Nick, stepping quickly forward with a drink, handed it to the Girl with the words:
“Regards of Blonde Harry.”
Again Sonora experienced a feeling akin to jealousy at what he termed Blonde Harry’s impudence. It almost immediately gave way to a paroxysm of chuckling; for, the Girl, quickly taking the glass from Nick’s hand, flung its contents into a nearby receptacle.