“Chewing-gum, of course.”
“I don't know what that is.”
He stared at her in utter incredulity. “You honestly never chewed gum?” A shake of the tawny head answered him. “Nor ate an all-day sucker?” Another shake. “Nor played marbles?” Still another mute denial. “Nor flew kites, nor pegged the cat, nor rollered on the asphalt, nor spun tops?” The questions came too fast for detailed answer, but the child's face grew more and more dismal as she was thus led, step by step, to confront a wasted life. Her inquisitor drew a long breath. “What did they put you in for?” he asked. “In where?”
“In that cage.”
“To play.” Her inventiveness rose in arms to offset the recondite and mysterious joys which he had enumerated, and with it her spirits. “I play I'm a wild animal. Gr-rr-rr-rr! If I could get out I'd eat you up, Little Boy.”
He played up to her. “I know what you are. You're a tiger. A big stripy tiger.
'Tiger! Tiger! burning bright—
In the forests of the night!'”
“Say some more,” she demanded imperiously. “I like poetry.”
“That's all I remember. I'll tell you; I'll be a keeper, and I'll come to the cage to feed you.” He felt in his pocket and produced a fresh stick of gum which he thrust through the wire meshes. Being a realist, Paula promptly bit him on the finger.
“Ow!” he exclaimed and dropped the gum. She pounced upon it, growling ferociously. “You play awfully hard, don't you?” he observed, caressing the mark of a sharp little tooth.