“Mr. Barnes! Oh, Mr. Barnes!”
“Maria,” he said or rather roared in greeting.
“Hush!” She put her finger quickly to her lips. “He’s asleep; whisper.”
“Maria,” he repeated obediently, in what passed with him as a whisper, but the sound of which rushed whistling down the narrow hall like a deep sea breeze.
“Don’t whisper; talk natural,” she suggested hurriedly. “Here, come into the front room an’ I’ll close the door. I’m awful glad to hear your voice, Mr. Barnes, but I do wish you could keep from lettin’ all the neighbors hear it.”
Once in the room and the door shut, she lost her air of severity, however; he was so tall and strong and had such a way with him that when he opened his arms and smiled so invitingly, she surrendered completely, and allowed him to embrace her with an ardor that completely took her breath away.
“Ha, ha, ha!” he roared gleefully; “maybe this is bad.”
“Mr. Barnes! However did you get here?”
“Five days’ shore leave. The ship’s anchored off Ninety-fifth Street. Say, this ain’t so bad, is it?”
“It’s, it’s mighty nice!” He was so delighted by her admission that he roared again, but her alarmed look sobered him, and lowering his voice as much as possible, he faced her with a look he meant to be one of great severity and determination, a look that he had practiced carefully for the occasion before a little mirror in the ward room of the battleship.