Toby moved away quickly, his attempt at ease deserting him with ludicrous suddenness. At sight of his blushing face Birdie relaxed her austerity.
“Say, ain’t you soft?” she declared, with a demure lowering of her lids. “I’ve allus heerd say, you only got to tell a feller don’t, an’ he sure does it quick. Men-folk is that contrary. Now––”
The encouragement brought its reward. Toby promptly sat himself on the table and set it creaking.
“Well, I do declare!” cried Birdie, in pretended indignation. “And I never ast you, neither. I don’t know, I’m sure. Some folks has nerve.”
But this time Toby was not to be intimidated. Perhaps it was the girl’s bright smile. Perhaps, with marvelous inspiration, he saw through her flirtatious methods. Anyway, he remained where he was, grinning sheepishly up into her face.
“Guess you best push me off. I ain’t heavy,” he dared her clumsily.
“I sure wouldn’t demean myself that way,” she retorted. “Gee, me settin’ hands on a feller like you. It would need a prize-fighter.”
The acknowledgment of his size and strength was a subtle tribute which pleased the man, as it was intended to. He preened himself and drew his knees up into his arms, in an attitude intended to be one of perfect ease and to show his confidence.
“I sure ain’t much of a feller for strength,” he said modestly, eyeing his enormous arms and hands affectionately. “You ought to see Wild Bill. He––he could eat me, an’ never worry his digestion.”
Birdie laughed happily. She was always ready to laugh at a man’s attempt at humor. That was her way.