"Humph! I'm not caring for anything or anybody to-day."
"Somebody has hurt my little girl."
Allie threw back her head and stared at him with quick suspicion. "Your little girl?" she repeated.
It is the lot of any man in the heat of his desire to make mistakes, and Delamater erred gravely at this moment. He kissed Allie. Without warning he kissed her full and fair upon her red, half-open lips.
For the briefest instant of amazement the two stood motionless in the middle of the polished floor while the phonograph brayed on; then Allie shook herself free of her partner, and in the same movement she smote him a mighty slap that sent him reeling. Delamater saw stars. The constellation of Orion gleamed in dazzling splendor within his tightly shut lids; he collided with a chair and went sprawling.
With a cry he scrambled to his feet. "What the hell—?" he growled, savagely.
Allie's face was chalky. Breathlessly, curiously she inquired, "Wha'd you do that for?"
"What did I do it for? Say! You ought to be complimented—tickled to death." Delamater rubbed his cheek and glared at her. "By God! I wish you were a man. Oh, don't worry, I won't touch you again! Who the hell would, after that?" Allie opened her lips to speak, but he ran on more angrily as the pain bit into him. "Thought I meant it, eh? Why, you lumbering ox—"
"Then you ain't—in love with me or—or anything?"
"Love?" The speaker uttered an unpleasant sound indicative of scorn. "Wake up, sister! What d'you take me for? Why, your mother talks bird talk, and your dad lives in a box stall and eats oats with his knife! Here I kid you along a little bit—slip you a little kiss, as I would any girl, and you—you—" Delamater stuttered impotently. "Love? I guess I'm the first regular fellow that ever gave you a chance."