She made him a beautiful blue smoking-cap, trimmed or embroidered with silver, and showed him how to wear it. At the same time she presented him with a hand mirror.
“Ugh!” he cried, when he looked in. “I never tink befoh I was so boo’ful. Leona, you are one good spirit.
“Dat little chubbie you’ daughter?”
“Oh no, I am not married.”
The king started up, spear in hand, and stood before her erect—six feet and six inches of cannibal king, and broad in proportion.
This was startling, and Leona was not a little frightened. What could he possibly mean?
“Be my wife,” he cried, in a conch-shell kind of voice. “Be my best wife.”
“No, no, no; pardon me, King Mlada, but I have a dear old mother, to whom I must return. Besides,” she added, “you have too many wives already. Far, far too many, sir.”
But he persisted: “De vely day you become my wife, I will call de boys all round, and cut de heads off all my oder wives, ’cept Ooeya. Den my soldier shall have one glorio feast of bukalo” (human flesh).
Leona was so shocked that she shed tears, seeing which, Teenie tried to soothe her.