"Now look here, Mr. Mac!" she said, severely, "you touch me again, and I
quit to-night. See?"
"I'll be good. I'll do anything you say if you'll just stay and
play with me."
"Play nothing! I've got work to do."
"Work be hanged! Do you suppose when I haven't seen you for four months
that I'm not going to claim my inning?"
"Well, I want to tell you right here," she said, shaking a warning pencil
in his face, "that I mean what I say about your behaving yourself."
Mac caught the end of the pencil and held it while their eyes challenged
each other.
"So be it!" he said. "I promise to be a model of discretion. Nance, I've
been mad about you! Did Monte tell you--"
"Mr. Monte didn't tell me anything I wanted to hear," she said in her
cool, keen way, as she got the imperiled ink-well to a place of safety,
and straightened the other articles on the desk.
"You wouldn't be so down on a fellow if you knew how hard hit I am,"
persisted Mac. "Besides, I'm in for an awful row with the governor. You
may see my scalp fly past the window in less than ten minutes."
"What's the row about?"
"Same old thing. I am the original devil for getting found out." For
the space of a minute he gloomily contemplated a spot in the carpet;
then he shrugged his shoulders, rammed his hands in his pockets, and
began to whistle.
"The governor'll fork out," he said. "He always does. Say, Nance, you
haven't said a word about my moustache."
"Let's see it," said Nance in giggling derision.
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