“Not with you,” rejoined Matt, smiling in response.
Priscilla laughed heartily. The white teeth gleamed roguishly against the full red lips.
“Come along,” she said, with good-humored conclusiveness.
He shook a smiling head. “I’m going to Economy.”
“You’re comin’ with me; the boss’ll stand you a dinner for repairin’ your decorations.”
“Why, what’s wrong with them?” he asked, anxiously.
He knew from his book how liable such things were to decay.
“Oh, the centre of the ceilin’ is a bit off color. That silly old owl of a Cynthia spilt a pail of water on the floor above.”
“You don’t say!” he cried, in concern.
“Honest Injun! I was jest mad. You could get lots to do if you would stay at our shanty.”