"Now it is your turn ... the last straw," she said to him.
"Thank you, ma'am," he replied in an even, matter-of-fact voice, though that annoying smile was still in his eyes, "but I guess you can count me out."
She lowered the hand which held the straw.
"You don't care to draw?"
"That's what I meant, ma'am."
"And why not?"
She was piqued, without good reason, at this refusal.
"In the first place, ma'am, I've never taken a chance in my life, if I knew it. I've tried to arrange so I wouldn't have to. I'm a poor gambler."
A suggestion of a flush crept into the girl's cheeks, for, though his manner was all frankness, he gave the impression that this was not his reason, or, at least, not his best reason; he seemed, in a subtle manner, to be poking fun at her. "Besides," he went on, "pickin' at pieces of straw don't seem like a good way to pick men."
"You understand why it is being done that way?" Though her manner did not betray it, she felt as though she were on the defensive.