Harboro did not speak. He looked on in amazed silence to see what she would do next. His swarthy face was too sphinx-like to express pleasure, yet he was not displeased. He was thinking: She is a child—but what an extraordinary child!
She crawled toward him and leaned against his leg. She was purring!
Harboro stooped low to see how she did it, but her hair hid her lips from him.
He seized her beneath the arms and lifted her until her face was on a level with his. He regarded her almost uncomfortably.
“Don’t you like me to be a kitten?” She adjusted her knees on his lap and rested her hands on his shoulders. She regarded him gravely.
“Well ... a kitten gets to be a cat,” he suggested.
She pulled one end of his long mustache, regarding him intently. “Oh, a cat. But this is a different kind of a kitten entirely. It’s got nothing to do with cats.” She held her head on one side and pulled his mustache slowly through her fingers. “It won’t curl,” she said.
“No, I’m not the curly sort of man.”
She considered that. It seemed to present an idea that was new to her. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re a big fellow.”
As he did not respond to this, she went on: “Those little shrimps—you couldn’t be a kitten with them. They would have to be puppies. That’s the only fun you could have.”