"Pooh!" pouts Miss Buell. "Who cares? She doesn't keep him in a cage, does she?"
"It ain't that," says I; "but his eyesight for anyone else is mighty poor."
"Oh, is it?" says she, sarcastic and doubtful. "We'll see about that. But, anyway, I'm beginning to be glad I came. Can you guess why?"
"I'm a wild guesser," says I. "Shoot it."
"Because," says she, "I think I'm going to like you rather well."
More business of cuddlin', and a hand dropped careless on my shoulder. We were still more 'n a mile from the house, and if I was to do any blockin'-off stunt, it was high time I begun. I twists my head around and gazes at the careless hand.
"Excuse me, sister," says I, "but before this goes any further I got to ask a question. Are your intentions serious?"
"Why, the idea!" says she. "What on earth do you mean?"
"I only want to be sure," says I, "that you ain't tryin' to trifle with my young affections."
She stiffens at that and goes a little gaspy. Also she grabs away the hand.