"She ought to, that she ought," called Lawson from the trap.
"Hi, honey!" cried the delighted darkey, "is dat him? La, chile, now he suttenly is a nice beau!"
"Aunt Roxie," said Frances haughtily, "put the chickens in the back of the trap. You're sure you've got them tied all right?"
"'Co'se I is!"
Lawson, delighted with Frances' discomfiture, was fussing about, helping the colored woman.
"Jes lissen at her, jes as mighty as you please," she muttered to him, and then quite loudly, "some folks suttenly is hard to please; yuh praises dem, dey got nutten to say; yuh praises de beau an' dey looks mad!"
"Never mind!" cried Frances, "never mind! I'm not going to bring you any tobacco next time I come!"
"La! Miss Frances, what mattah long yuh now—yuh know—hyar, chile, lemme pull yuh some dese hyar flowers; de fros' done totch dem anyhow!"
But Frances was not listening; she was off fast as her horse would trot, the chickens squawking indignantly, and Roxie by her zinnias and marigolds gazing in open-mouthed astonishment. Lawson was shaking with laughter. He was even with her he felt, and perhaps a little ahead. He was sure he was ahead when, just outside the University gate, one of the chickens, freed after much straining, fluttered under the edge of Frances' skirt and shrieked a loud and triumphant squawk. Frances sprang to her feet; but for Lawson she would have been out and under the wheel. There was no laughter about that young man for one swift instant, when he threw his arm out, pulled her back into the seat and snatched the falling reins. The danger past, he caught the offending fowl, fluttering now in the dash-board, handed it gravely to Frances and then, without a word of excuse, leaned back and laughed until the tears were in his eyes.
As for Frances, she was white, she was cold. She had been frightened for the first time in her life into a silly deed. She was mad through and through, but it was useless. Under that ringing laugh all else gave way; she must join in it.