Answer promptly, “Not any more, you ain’t.”
She compresses her lips and ignores you, fingering the strings of the ukelele in an abstracted way. It has no effect. Pat her arm and say:
“Give us a tune, kid?”
“Fresh!” she says scornfully. “Who you crowding?”
“Aw, don’t be mean,” you plead. “Give us a tune.”
Eloise shakes her head quickly and decisively. “I didn’t ask you over!” she reminds you. It is a warning that she is on her guard; that she is a difficult proposition; that she is a Nice Girl.
“Well, gee, can’t a guy try to be human?” Your voice should be petulant and youthful. “I was just trying to be human. I was lonesome.” It is a plaintive speech, and you look plaintive. But nevertheless you are a masculine being, strong and undefeated. Probably it is the bathing suit, or perhaps the air with which you light your cigarette. Eloise gazes at your profile in uncertainty. End the pause by casting away the match and turning to her.
“So when I seen you I couldn’t help talking. If you don’t like it I’ll go away. I got my pride, too.”
This is a little better. “Oh, well, if you didn’t mean to be fresh. You know a girl has got to be careful.”
“Sure,” you say, nodding. “I bet you do, all right.”