"Alas! you naever see no picture on fan lig unto me."
"But I have," insisted Garland.
She shook her head again.
"Well, then, if not, why not? "
"They got not those purple eye—an' pink face—an' flaming hair—"
She sighed, and looked askance at Garland. He seemed fully to agree with her. She changed her tone to one of resigned solicitude and ceremony.
"You sleeping well—all those night?"
"Well, by the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress, if I were a Japanese artist, that is the kind of eyes and face and hair they should all have! Yessir!—every blamed one of them!"
The girl caught her breath, and something flamed up her face and lighted her splendid eyes anew. She dared to look at him. It had all sounded quite true. Wistfully she dissembled—this at least was truly Japanese.
"You sleeping well all"—she lost her purpose for a moment—"all those night—all?"
"Blue eyes for me, every day in the week."
