“I don't mean here. I mean altogether.”
“About six ye-ar, Monsieur.”
“You must be well off by this time. An' they say that you've earned it all workin', and that you're straight. Say, I'll marry you, if you say the word—”
“You say, they say, too much, Monsieur.”
“Here! Don't you go givin' me no orders, you French crinoline fluff!”
“I ordair no man, an' no man is ordair me!” She stared him down with her glittering, black eyes, and returned to her dealing. Pete strolled out, followed by his satellites. When the noises in the street grew louder it caused no particular comment. It was the usual thing. But when a crowd burst into the Royal Flush, Mignon sprang to her feet with a cry of anguish.
“Dealt me a raw deal, didn't yeh, you smart Frenchie?” gloated Buckeye Pete. “Well, look at your man. Take a good look, an' don't miss the necktie he's wearin'. Pretty li'l rope choker we got for Dandy Anthony. Ain't no man can go killin' an' get away with it, while I'm here,” looking around for applause.
“Name of a pig!” hissed Mignon. “You—you would.”
“Sure' we would! Right out on the lynchin' tree.” She turned and dashed for the rear. “Ze sheriff! He must come toute suite!”
“Min,” whispered Soft-soap Joe, the bartender, “he left two hours ago on a new case, otherwise they wouldn't a-dared do this.”