The Girl’s face wore a puzzled look as she answered:
“No, I don’t believe I know what you mean by them words. Is it a—” She cut her sentence short, and springing up, cried out: “Oh, Lord—Oh, excuse me, I sat on my gun!”
Johnson looked at her, genuine amusement depicted on his face.
“Look here,” said the Girl, suddenly perching herself upon the table, “I’m goin’ to make you an offer.”
“An offer?” Johnson fairly snatched the words out of her mouth. “You’re going to make me an offer?”
“It’s this,” declared the Girl with a pleased look on her face. “If ever you need to be staked—”
Johnson eyed her uncomprehendingly.
“Which o’ course you don’t,” she hastened to add. “Name your price. It’s yours jest for the style I git from you an’ the deportment.”
“Deportment? Me?” A half-grin formed over Johnson’s face as he asked the question; then he said: “Well, I never heard before that my society was so desirable. Apart from the financial aspect of this matter, I—”
“Say,” broke in the Girl, gazing at him in helpless admiration, “ain’t that great? Ain’t that great? Oh, you got to let me stand treat!”