"Blow me to a ice-cream cone? Gowann, Teenie, have a heart!"
Miss Hoag billowed into silent laughter. "Little devil! That's six you've sponged off me this week, you little whipper-snapper!"
The Baron screwed up into the tightest of grimaces.
"Nice Teenie—nice old Teenie!"
She tossed him a coin from the small saucerful of them on the table beside her. He caught it with the simian agility of his tiny hands.
"Nice Teenie! Nice old Teenie!"
A first group had strolled up, indolent and insolent at the spectacle of them.
"Photographs! Photographs! Take the folks back home a signed photograph of Teenie—only ten cents, one dime. Give the kiddies a treat—signed photograph of little Teenie!"
She would solicit thus, canorous of phrase, a fan of her cardboard likenesses held out, invitational.
Occasionally there were sales, the coins rattling down into the china saucer beside her; oftener a mere bombardment of insolence and indolence, occasionally a question.