I reached over and got holt of one of her hands. I was breathin’ like pore Up-State. “Honey,” I says, “honey, dear.”
She looked square at me. “Alec,” she says, “you didn’t understand me. I ain’t the kind of a gal that can be roped and hobbled and led on a hackamore.”
“And you ain’t the kind t’ dance with greasers,” I says, “–if you’re thinkin’ back to our first little fuss. No, you ain’t. You’re too darned nice fer such cattle.”
By then, I was shakin’ like I had the buck-fever. “Macie,” I goes on, “ain’t you goin’ t’ let me come and see you?”
“Wal–wal––”
I got holt of her other hand. “Aw, little gal,” I says, “nobody wants you t’ win out more ’n I do. I’m no dawg-in-the-manger, Macie. You got a’ awful fine voice. Go ahaid–and be the biggest singer in Amuricaw. But, honey,–that needn’t t’ keep you from likin’ me–from likin’ ole Alec, that cain’t live without his dear little gal––”
“I do like y’! And didn’t I allus say you was t’ come on when I made a success?”
She come into my arms then. And, aw! I knowed just how lonesome she’d been, pore little sweetheart! by the way she clung t’ me.
“Never mind! honey dear, never mind! I’m here t’ take keer of y’.”