"Yes!" she assented wickedly. "There are better ones."
"Sam Pritz—"
Sally looked away, smiled, and was silent.
"Sulky Seffy!" she finally said.
"If he does stink of salt mackerel, and 'most always drunk!" Seffy went on bitterly. "He's nothing but a molasses-tapper!"
Sally began to drift farther away and to sing. Calling Pritz names was of no consequence—except that it kept Seffy from making love to her while he was doing it—which seemed foolish to Sally. The old man came up and brought them together again.
"Oach! go 'long and make lofe some more. I like to see it. I expect I am an old fool, but I like to see it—it's like ol' times—yas, and if you don't look out there, Seffy, I'll take a hand myself—yassir! go 'long!"
He drew them very close together, each looking the other way. Indeed he held them there for a moment, roughly.
Seffy stole a glance at Sally. He wanted to see how she was taking his father's odiously intimate suggestion. But it happened that Sally wanted to see how he was taking it. She laughed with the frankest of joy as their eyes met.
"Seffy—I do—like you," said the coquette. "And you ought to know it. You imp!"