"I did," he admitted, sullenly; "but there's a limit to most wants. Oh,
well: go ahead an' play. That last piece was all right; but give us a
gallop or a mazurka--anything lively. Better yet, a caprice: it's in
keepin' with yore temperament. If you was to try to interpert mine you
'd have to dig it out of Verdi an' toll a funeral bell."
"Say; who told you so much about music?" she demanded.
"Th' man that makes harmonicas," he grinned. He arose and took a step
toward her, but she retreated swiftly, smiling. "Now behave yourself,
for a little while, at least. What's th' matter with you, anyhow? What
makes you so silly?"
"You, of course. I don't see no purty wimmin out on th' range, an' you
went to my head th' minute I laid eyes on you. _I_ ain't in no hurry to
leave this town, now nohow."
"I 'm afraid you 're going to be awful when you grow up. But you 're a
nice boy to say such pretty things. Here," she said, filling his glass
and handing it to him, "let's drink another toast--you know such nice
ones."
"Yes; an' if I don't run out of 'em purty soon I 'll have to hunt a
solid, immovable corner somewheres; an' there ain't nothin' solid or
immovable about _this_ room at present," he growled. "What you allus
drinkin' to somethin' for? Well, here's a toast--I don't know any more
fancy ones. Here's to--_you_!"
"That's nicer than--oh, pshaw!" she exclaimed, pouting. "An' you would
n't drink a full glass to _that_ one. You must think I 'm nice, when
you renig like that! Don't tell me any more pretty things--an' stop
right where you are! Think you can hang onto me after that? Well,
that's better; why didn't you do it th' first time? You can be a nice
boy when you want to."
He flushed angrily. "Will you stop callin' me a boy?" he demanded
unsteadily. "I ain't no kid! I do a man's work, earn a man's pay, an'
I spend it like a man."
"An' drink a boy's drink," she teased. "You 'll grow up some day." She
reached forward and filled his glass again, for an instant letting her
cheek touch his. Swiftly evading him she laughed and patted him on the
head. "Here, _man_," she taunted, "drink this if you dare!"
He frowned at her but gulped down the liquor. "There, like a fool!" he
grumbled, bitterly. "You tryin' to get me drunk?" he demanded suddenly
in a heavy voice.
She threw back her head and regarded him coldly. "It will do me no
good. Why should I? I merely wanted to see if you would take a dare, if
you were a man. You are either not sober now, or you are insultingly
impolite. I don't care to waste any more words or time with you," and
she turned haughtily toward the door.
He had leaned against the piano, but now he lurched forward and cried
out. "I 'm sorry if I hurt yore feelin's that way--I shore didn't mean
to. Ain't we goin' to make up?" he asked, anxiously.
"Do you mean that?" she demanded, pausing and looking around.
"You know I do, Annie. Le's make up--come on; le's make up."
"Well; I'll try you, an' see."
"Play some more. You play beautiful," he assured her with heavy
gravity.
"I'm tired of--but, say: Can you play poker?" she asked, eagerly.
"Why, shore; who can't?"
"Well, I can't, for one. I want to learn, so I can win my money back
from Jim. He taught me, but all I had time to learn was how to lose."
Sammy regarded her in puzzled surprise and gradually the idea became
plain. "Did he teach you, an' win money from you? Did he keep it?" he
finally blurted, his face flushed a deeper red from anger.