“I’m sure I don’t,” declared Pollock. He put back his arm against the railing, knocking down the box of candy that Balcomb had left behind him.
“Ah, I beg everybody’s pardon!”
“You should beg Mr. Balcomb’s pardon. He contributed that to our evening’s enjoyment.”
“How nice of him! It seems to be intact. I suppose I may as well prepare it for circulation.”
“Mr. Balcomb’s feelings might be hurt if he came back,” suggested Zelda.
“He won’t come back; I’ll wager another box he won’t,” replied the officer, blandly, as he fumbled with the string. “Miss Dameron, permit me,—I’m sure they’re delicious. Chocolates, I fancy, from the bouquet,—and, Miss Merriam, you will not decline. Mr. Leighton, a little candy now and then is relished by the wisest men. I propose Mr. Balcomb’s health, to be eaten sitting and in silence.”
“It isn’t polite to treat the gift of a parting guest in that way,” protested Olive. “I’m surprised at you, Captain Pollock.”
“My manners are something execrable. I beg all your pardons. Now, as we have been refreshed through Mr. Balcomb’s generosity, I move that we take advantage of the fine night—the moon is just getting over the trees—to take a little walk up the highway. Please don’t say no!”
“The idea has merit,” affirmed Leighton, with cheerful alacrity.
“There are no Indians,” said Pollock, as the young women hesitated.