“Whoa, Mary! Back up!” Bert checked her peremptorily. “You're in the wrong stall. Billy never makes mistakes like that.”
“But he needn't be so raw,” she persisted.
“Come on, Mary, an' be good, an' cut that stuff,” was Billy's dismissal of her, as he turned to Saxon. “How near did I come to it?”
“One hundred and twenty-two,” she answered, looking deliberately at Mary. “One twenty two with my clothes.”
Billy burst into hearty laughter, in which Bert joined.
“I don't care,” Mary protested, “You're terrible, both of you—an' you, too, Saxon. I'd never a-thought it of you.”
“Listen to me, kid,” Bert began soothingly, as his arm slipped around her waist.
But in the false excitement she had worked herself into, Mary rudely repulsed the arm, and then, fearing that she had wounded her lover's feelings, she took advantage of the teasing and banter to recover her good humor. His arm was permitted to return, and with heads bent together, they talked in whispers.
Billy discreetly began to make conversation with Saxon.
“Say, you know, your name is a funny one. I never heard it tagged on anybody before. But it's all right. I like it.”