She shakes her head hesitantly. “N-no. But I’ll have to go soon; it’s awfully late.”
You munch hungrily while the breeze dies down over the water. Then shift, disposing yourself more comfortably, and grunt contentedly. Eloise gives the head in her lap a little push, but it rolls back. She decides to ignore it.
“Gosh,” you say at last, “a night like this is enough to make anybody feel soft. Even a guy like me.”
“Yeah, I bet you’re a hard guy!” she cries.
Lift your head and prop it on your hand. “Say, listen, babe! Anybody who says I ain’t, don’t know me! Does anybody ever bother you? Some of these drugstore sheiks ever get fresh?”
She hangs her head. “Well....”
“Well,” cut her short, “if they do, send ’em around!” Make your voice ominous. “Don’t let anybody tell you different. Look here.” Raise your arm and clench your fist. “Feel that. There.”
Eloise puts out a tentative and timid finger. “Ooo!” she cries. “Yes, I guess you could hit. I guess I wouldn’t ever try to get you sore!”
“Baby,” murmur tenderly, “you couldn’t get me sore if you tried. I knew the minute I seen you you was a sweet kid. If anybody ever bothers you again, tell me. A nice kid like you hadn’t ought to go around without somebody taking care of you. I remember once....” Here you stop. Somewhere down the beach another ukelele plays softly. You sigh and grope through the dark. She tries futilely to dislodge you.
“I really got to be going,” she protests, somewhat frightened. She is always somewhat frightened when the fellows get too fresh.