"Where," said I, "will you get breakfast to-morrow?—lunch to-morrow?—and dinner to-morrow?"
"We disband to-night," she said, "and I don't know."
"I suppose you know," said I, "what happens to most white girls who get stranded in Indian cities?"
"I know," she said, "that people get up against it so hard that they oughtn't to be blamed for anything they do."
"They aren't," I said, "by—Christians; but it's ugly just the same. Now——"
"And you," she said, flaring up, "think that, as long as it's got to be, it might as well be you! Is that your song and dance, Mr. Smarty?"
I shook my head and smiled.
"Don't be a little goat!" I said; and that seemed to make her take to me and trust me.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.