"Cheer up, sister," he said, heaping a plate with baked beans and sitting down at the table. "Pardon me, if I finish supper. That lad ain't so hot. You've got me now, haven't yer? I'm a better man than he was, Gunga Din!"
"Yes, you are--I don't think!"
"How do yer get that way?"
"Well--" Dorothy eyed him uncompromisingly--"why are you afraid of me, then?"
"Afraid? You little whippet!" He paused, his knife loaded with beans half way to his mouth. "Say--that's a good one! What are yer givin' us?"
"You keep me tied up, don't you? Why? You're twice my size and you've got a gun--"
"Two of 'em, little one--my rod and yourn."
"Yet you're afraid to loosen my hands."
"No, I'm not--but--"
"Please," she begged, changing her tone. "My face itches terribly from all that dust and I--"