"You don't want to know her name."
"I want to--the worst kind. My! Look at that cunning little curl! And her shape! You know nothing o' that yet, Bud, but I tell ye, sir, yer sister is put up just right according to my notions. Not too tall. Them strung-out, trained-to-a-hair, high-falutin girls never did fetch me. I like 'em round, and soft, and innocent. What's her name, sonny?"
"Sarah."
"Sairy! Bud, I don't believe that. Sairy! I never did cotton to Sairy. Yer pullin' my leg, ye young scallywag. The nerve! No--ye don't."
Jeff had stretched out a long, lean arm, and seized the boy by the shoulder in a grasp which tightened cruelly.
"Oh--oh!"
"Tell me her right name, ye little cuss, or I'll squeeze ye into pulp."
"Lemmee go! Dad calls her Sadie."
Jeff released the shoulder, grinning.
"Sadie--that's a heap better. I--I could love to--to distraction a girl o' the name o' Sadie."