“But ’Poleon has just come in from the creeks and we’ve a lot to talk about.”

“Won’t it keep?  I never seen talk spoil overnight.”  When Rouletta smilingly shook her head Mr. Ryan dangled a tempting bait before her.  “I got a swell fairy-story for you.  I bet you’d eat it up.  It’s like this:  Once upon a time there was a beautiful Princess named Rouletta and she lived in an old castle all covered with ivy.  It was smothered up in them vines till you’d vamp right by and never see it.  Along came a busted Prince who had been spendin’ his vacation and some perfectly good ten-dollar bills in the next county that you could scarcely tell from the real thing.  He was takin’ it afoot, on account of the jailer’s daughter, who had slipped him a file along with his laundry, but she hadn’t thought to put in any lunch.  See?  Well, it’s a story of how this here hungry Prince et the greens off of the castle and discovered the sleepin’ Princess.  It’s a knockout.  I bet you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I would,” Rouletta agreed.  “Save it for to-morrow night.”

The Snowbird was reluctant in yielding; he eyed ’Poleon darkly, and there was both resentment and suspicion in his somber glance when he finally turned away.

Not until Rouletta and her companion were perched upon their high stools at the oilclothcovered lunch-counter did the latter speak; then he inquired, with a frown: 

“Tell me, is any dese feller mak’ love on you, ma soeur?”

“Why, no!  They’re perfectly splendid, like you.  Why the terrible black look?”

“Gamblers!  Sure-t’ing guys!  Boosters!  Bah!  Better dey lef you alone, dat’s all.  You’re nice gal; too nice for dem feller.”

Rouletta smiled mirthlessly; there was an expression in her eyes that the woodsman had never seen. “‘Too nice!’ That’s almost funny when you think about it.  What sort of men would make love to me, if not gamblers, fellows like Ryan?”

’Poleon breathed an exclamation of astonishment at this assertion.  “Wat you sayin’?” he cried.  “If dat loafer mak’ fresh talk wit’ you I—­pull him in two piece wit’ dese fingers.  Dere’s plenty good man.  I—­you—­” He paused uncertainly; then his tone changed to one of appeal.  “You won’t marry wit’ nobody, eh?  Promise me dat.”

“That’s an easy promise, under the circumstances.”

“Bien!  I never t’ink ‘bout you gettin’ married.  By gosh! dat’s fierce t’ing, for sure!  Wat I’ll do if—­” ’Poleon shook his massive shoulders as if to rid himself of such unwelcome speculations.

“No danger!”

Rouletta’s crooked smile did not go unnoticed.  ’Poleon studied her face intently; then he inquired: 

“Wat ail’ you, li’l sister?”

“Why—­nothing.”

“Oh yes!  I got eye lak fox.  You seeck?”

“The idea!” Miss Kirby pulled herself together, but there was such genuine concern in her companion’s face that her chin quivered.  She felt the need of saying something diverting; then abruptly she turned away.