was like a good child dancing for company. No ability, but plenty of willingness. Her brows were knit with earnestness. Her eyes never left the fingers which she placed with such painful accuracy in the wrong places. Eddie smiled.
"It ain't gonna rain no more, no more. . . ."
And she was darn pretty, too. Gee, what soft-looking skin.
"That it ain't gonna rain no more." . . .
The ukulele was quiet. The earnest eyes looked up at Eddie from their task.
"Yeh," he said by way of approbation. "Let's talk."
A thin-faced, sleek-haired youth wearing white trousers came suddenly from around the corner of the boat.
"Miss Higgins wants her cape," he said to Eddie.
Eddie's hands dug deeper into his pockets. His shoulders became a shade more rounded. He said, "Tell Miss Higgins to come for it herself."
The thin-faced youth smiled. "One doesn't say those things to a lady," he told Eddie, loftily.
"No? Well, you tell what's-her-name to come get this coat herself."
"Perhaps she doesn't care to speak to you," suggested the other.
"She didn't mind early this evening," said Eddie. His eyes narrowed again. His mouth was a crooked line when he spoke.
"Just what do you mean?" The boy with the sleek hair was quick to leap at Eddie's insinuation.
Dot's teeth tore nervously at her nails. She had once seen a pale-faced fellow with greased hair reduce an automobile mechanic to a meek and bloody pulp.
"Look here, Buddie," Eddie's tone was not unpleasant now, but his eyes still squinted, and his lips were thin and jagged. "I have no pick with you."
