She's just old persimmons. Even
the scrub-boy of this establishment would fight for her. It lasts the
year round, for in winter it's some poor, frozen cuss that she's warming
up on hot coffee or chocolate."
"Mighty queer specimen she had this time," volunteered another. "Irish,
hand off, straight as a ramrod, and something worth while in his face.
Notice that hat peel off, and the eyes of him? There's a case of 'fight
for her!' Wonder who he is?"
"I think," said a third, "that he's McLean's Limberlost guard, and I
suspect she's gone to the swamp with the Bird Woman for pictures and
knows him that way. I've heard that he is a master hand with the birds,
and that would just suit the Bird Woman to a T."
On the street the Angel walked beside Freckles to the first crossing and
there she stopped. "Now, will you promise to ride fast enough to make up
for the five minutes that took?" she asked. "I am a little uneasy about
Mrs. Duncan."
Freckles turned his wheel into the street. It seemed to him he had
poured that delicious icy liquid into every vein in his body instead of
his stomach.
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