The young fellow allowed himself to be led away toward the pavilion, and the gang followed after him.
“Who is he?” Martin asked Lizzie. “And what’s it all about, anyway?”
Already the zest of combat, which of old had been so keen and lasting, had died down, and he discovered that he was self-analytical, too much so to live, single heart and single hand, so primitive an existence.
Lizzie tossed her head.
“Oh, he’s nobody,” she said. “He’s just ben keepin’ company with me.”
“I had to, you see,” she explained after a pause. “I was gettin’ pretty lonesome. But I never forgot.” Her voice sank lower, and she looked straight before her. “I’d throw ’m down for you any time.”
Martin looking at her averted face, knowing that all he had to do was to reach out his hand and pluck her, fell to pondering whether, after all, there was any real worth in refined, grammatical English, and, so, forgot to reply to her.
“You put it all over him,” she said tentatively, with a laugh.
“He’s a husky young fellow, though,” he admitted generously. “If they hadn’t taken him away, he might have given me my hands full.”
“Who was that lady friend I seen you with that night?” she asked abruptly.