Birdie took no umbrage.
“You got to it––after awhiles,” she remarked slyly. Then she added, with a gush, “D’you know, I’m allus most scared to death of you men. You’re that big an’ strong, it makes me feel you could well-nigh eat me.”
Sandy availed himself of the invitation.
“A tasty mouthful,” he declared. And without more ado he passed round the table, caught her quickly in his arms, and, without the smallest expression of interest, kissed her. If interest were lacking, his movements were so swift that, had the girl the least idea of avoiding the embrace––which she hadn’t––she would have found it difficult to do so.
“You men are ones!” she declared, with a little gasp, as his arms fell from about her.
“How’s that?”
“I never did––the cheek of some of you!”
“A feller needs cheek,” replied the self-satisfied widower. “’Specially with pretty gals around,” he added condescendingly.
Birdie eyed him archly.
“Gals?” she inquired.