“Nope.”
“Nope.”
“Now, see here, there’s just one—”
“Nope—take it straight, Jack, nope....” interrupted the Girl. She had made up her mind that he had gone far enough; and firmly grabbing his hand she slipped his change into it.
Without a word the Sheriff dropped the coins into the cuspidor. The Girl saw the action and her eyes flashed with anger. The next moment, however, she looked up at him and said more gently than any time yet:
“No, Jack, I can’t marry you. Ah, come along—start your game again—go on, Jack.” And so saying she came out from behind the bar and went over to the faro table with: “Whoop la! Mula! Go! Good Lord, look at that faro table!”
But Rance was on the verge of losing control of himself. There was passion in his steely grey eyes when he advanced towards her, but although the Girl saw the look she did not flinch, and met it in a clear, straight glance.
“Look here, Jack Rance,” she said, “let’s have it out right now. I run The Polka ’cause I like it. My father taught me the business an’, well, don’t you worry ’bout me—I can look after m’self. I carry my little wepping”—and with that she touched significantly the little pocket of her dress. “I’m independent, I’m happy, The Polka’s payin’, an’ it’s bully!” she wound up, laughing. Then, with one of her quick changes of mood, she turned upon him angrily and demanded: “Say, what the devil do you mean by proposin’ to me with a wife in Noo Orleans? Now, this is a respectable saloon, an’ I don’t want no more of it.”
A look of gloom came into Rance’s eyes.