Jake looked at her, the hint of a smile about his rugged mouth. "I guess not," he said. "You're just—young."
She shook her head vehemently. "I'm not! It wasn't that, Jake! I didn't—hurt you?"
"Shucks, no!" he said.
She clung to his arm still. "I'll never disobey you again. I won't do anything you don't like. Jake, I mean it! Why are you laughing?"
"I'm not," said Jake. He put his pipe away again, and patted her shoulder. "All right. Don't say any more!" he said.
Toby gulped down some obstruction in the throat. "I must. I've got to ask you something. You're so awfully decent. I can't—I won't—do things you don't like."
"What do you want to know?" said Jake.
Her other hand came up and fastened tightly upon his arm. "I don't know how to tell you," she said. "I—I had a rotten night last night. That's why I went out alone this morning. And I took Knuckle-Duster because the devil tempted me."
"I see," said Jake. His red-brown eyes were very kindly in their directness. "What did you have a bad night about?"
Her hold upon him tightened. Something of entreaty made itself felt in her grasp. There was fear in the wide blue eyes so resolutely lifted to his.