'Poleon breathed an exclamation of astonishment at this assertion. "Wat you sayin'?" he cried. "If dat loafer mak' fresh talk wit' you I—pull him in two piece wit' dese fingers. Dere's plenty good man. I—you—" He paused uncertainly; then his tone changed to one of appeal. "You won't marry wit' nobody, eh? Promise me dat."
"That's an easy promise, under the circumstances."
"Bien! I never t'ink 'bout you gettin' married. By gosh! dat's fierce t'ing, for sure! Wat I'll do if—" 'Poleon shook his massive shoulders as if to rid himself of such unwelcome speculations.
"No danger!"
Rouletta's crooked smile did not go unnoticed. 'Poleon studied her face intently; then he inquired:
"Wat ail' you, li'l sister?"
"Why—nothing."
"Oh yes! I got eye lak fox. You seeck?"
"The idea!" Miss Kirby pulled herself together, but there was such genuine concern in her companion's face that her chin quivered. She felt the need of saying something diverting; then abruptly she turned away.
'Poleon's big hand closed over hers; in a voice too low for any but her ears he said: "Somet'ing is kill de song in your heart, ma petite. I give my life for mak' you happy. Sometam you care for tell me, mebbe I can he'p li'l bit."