With that he quits kiddin' and goes to work on Miriam's fingers, and in about a minute she gives a little jump, like she'd just heard the breakfast bell.
"Why!" says she. "Where am I?"
"Right where you landed five minutes ago," says I.
Then she shudders all over and squeals: "Oh! A man! A man!"
"Sure," says I, "you didn't take me for a Morris chair, did you?"
Miriam didn't linger for any more. She lets loose a holler that near splits me ear open, slides down so fast that her bare tootsies hit the floor with a spat, grabs her what-d'ye-call-it up away from her ankles with both hands, and sprints down the hall as if she was makin' for the last car.
"Say," says I, gettin' me neck out of crook, "I wish that thought had come to her sooner. I feel as if I'd been squeezed by a pair of ice-tongs. If she can hug like that in her sleep, what could she do when she was wide awake?"
"Shorty," says Pinckney, with his face as solemn as a preacher's, "I'm pained and astonished at this."
"Me, too," says I.
"Don't jest," says he. "This looks to me like an attempt at kidnapping."