"If you could define a real woman, Polk,
in what terms would you express her?" I asked him straight out from the
shoulder.
"Hell fire and a hallelujah chorus, if she's beautiful," he answered me
promptly.
I laughed. I thought it was best under the circumstances.
"I'll tell you, Evelina," he continued, stealthily. "A man just can't
generalize the creatures. Apparently they are craving nothing so much as
emotional excitement and when you offer it to them they want to go to
housekeeping with it. Love is a business with them and not an art."
"Would you like to try a genuine friendship with one. Polk?" I asked,
and again struck from the shoulder--with my eyes.
"Help! Not if you mean yourself, beautiful," he answered promptly and
with fervor. "I wouldn't trust myself with you one minute off-guard like
that."
"You could safely."
"But I won't!"
"Will you try?"
"No!"
"Will you go over and sit in that chair while I tell you something
calmly, quietly, and seriously? It'll give you a new sensation and maybe
it will be good for you." I looked him straight in the face and the
battle of our eyes was something terrific. I had made up my mind to have
it out with him then and there. There was nothing else to do. I would be
frank and courageous and true to my vow--and accept the consequences.
He slid along the railing of the porch and down into the chair in almost
a daze of bewilderment.
"Polk," I began, concealing a gulp of terror, "I love you more than I
can possibly--"
[Illustration: "Say, Polk, I let the Pup git hung by her apron to the
wheel of your car.
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