The squirrel went over to nose the golf ball, again.
"I asked a question," Ted said.
The squirrel sat up, looking at the nutmeg tree. "Look, Mr. Truesdale,
we've got to have a meeting of minds. You know who's a beautiful girl,
and so do I. Good gosh, you've been sitting there, drooling, all
morning. And now you're back for more." The bright black eyes turned
Ted's way. "Don't be so conventional. That's what kept you from being a
first rate artist."
Ted was silent.
"Do we do business? Or don't we?"