When she had disappeared among the trees, and the horse's hoofs could scarcely be heard on the hard dry road, Jim drew up his leg, resumed his former balance, and went on as if nothing had happened.
"There was Kurnel Brookhouse and—"
"The mischief fly away wid old Brookhouse," broke in Carnes, giving the fence a shake that nearly unseated our juggler. "Who's the purty girl as bowed till yee's? That's the question on board now."
"Look here, Mr. Ireland," expostulated Jim, getting slowly off the fence backward, and affecting great timidity in so doing, "ye shouldn't shake a chap that way when he's practisin' jimnasti—what's its name? It's awful unsafe."
And he assured himself that his two feet were actually on terra firma before he relinquished his hold upon the top rail of the fence. Then turning toward Carnes he asked, with a most insinuating smile:
"Wasn't you askin' something?"
"That's jist what I was, by the powers," cried Carnes, as if his fate hung upon the answer. "Who is the leddy? be dacent, now."
We had been some two weeks in Trafton when this dialogue occurred, and Jim Long was one of our first acquaintances. Carnes had picked him up somewhere about town; and the two had grown quite friendly and intimate.