“Forgib me, honey,” he begged, “but me obliged to finish, while de daylight last.”
“Sh’o,” she sulked, following the amazing strategy of the sunset-clouds.
“Miami angel, you look so sweet: I dat amorous ob you, Mimi!”
A light laugh tripped over her lips:
“Say, buoy, how you getting on?” she queried, sinking down on her knees beside him.
“I dat amorous ob you!”
“Oh, ki,” she tittered, with a swift mocking glance at his crimson loincloth. She had often longed to snatch it away.
“Say you lub me, just a lil, too, deah?”
“Sh’o,” she answered softly, sliding over on to her stomach, and laying her cheek to the flats of her hands.
Boats with crimson spouts, to wit, steamers, dotted the skyline far away, and barques, with sails like the wings of butterflies, borne by an idle breeze, were bringing more than one ineligible young mariner back to the prose of shore.