He felt something brush against his trouser pocket and looking down, caught sight of the girl’s hand in the act of removing his money. With a swift jerk, he grabbed the roll of bills from her and placed it in the inside pocket of his blouse, much to the native’s discomfort.
At that very moment, Panama reached the veranda outside of the cafe, stopping to read the sign that forbade Marines to enter. As he burst through the grilled door, rudely brushing by a party of Americans who were ready to leave, his ears caught the sound of music and hilarity.
Once inside, his eyes searched over the rows of tables and the people jammed together on the dance floor, resting them upon Lefty and the little native girl. Without waiting another moment, he pushed through the crowd until he reached the center of the floor.
“What are you trying to pull off here?” he demanded to know, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder and swinging him around. “Pull yourself together. We’re gettin’ out of this joint pronto!”
Rosa made no attempt to hide her resentment over Panama’s sudden intrusion and clung desperately to Lefty’s sleeve. As for the boy, he was so far gone by this time, that it took him a few moments to recognize the sergeant. When he finally did, his jovial mood returned and he slapped Panama on the back in a playful fashion, shouting: “Well, well, well—if it ain’t the old kid hisself!”
“Come on, son,” Panama said, good-humoredly. “You’ve had your little fling, let’s go places!”
“No, sir! No, sir! We’re goin’ stay right here!” the boy stubbornly insisted, throwing his arms about the sergeant’s neck in a typical inebriated fashion. “You an’ me, ole pal, we’re goin’ raise the ole roof!”
The native girl grew more and more angered as the intruder insisted upon separating her from her easy prey.
“What you want, huh?” she demanded to know of Panama. “Why you no leave heem weez me, yes?”
“Yeah, why you no leave me weez she, huh?” Lefty mimicked the girl in a silly fashion.