“Well, try another—I won’t look if you are.”
“They’ll—she’ll smell it.”
“Not she, you can eat some parsley, that takes the smell away.”
“Oh, I don’t mind telling her—it’s only—well, there.”
She took a cigarette and he lit it for her.
“Blow it through your nose,” he commanded, “that’s the way. Now let’s pretend we’re two old darkies sitting on a log, you push against me and I’ll push against you, you’re Jim and I’m Uncle Joseph. ‘What yo’ crowding me for, Jim,’” he squeezed up gently against her, and Phyl jumped to her feet.
He glanced up at her, sideways, laughing, and for the life of her she could not be angry.
“Don’t you think we’d better go and look at the garden?” said she.
“In a minute, sit down again. I won’t knock against you. It was only my fun. We’ll pretend I’m Pap, and you’re Maria Pinckney, if you like. You’ve let your cigarette go out.”
“So I have.”