He scowled a little as he glanced around him. Then his eye fell on the caller on the other side of the stockade.
To his surprise it was a woman: a pretty, gentle, fragile creature, all soft muslin and laces, with her fingers interlocked, and leaning both elbows on the top of the stockade as she stood under the checkered shadow of a buckeye.
"Come here--please--won't you?" she said pleasantly.
It would have been impossible to resist her voice if Leonidas had wanted to, which he didn't. He walked confidently up to the fence.
She really was very pretty, with eyes like his setter's, and as caressing. And there were little puckers and satiny creases around her delicate nostrils and mouth when she spoke, which Leonidas knew were "expression."
"I--I"--she began, with charming hesitation; then suddenly, "What's your name?"
"Leonidas."
"Leonidas! That's a pretty name!" He thought it DID sound pretty.
"Well, Leonidas, I want you to be a good boy and do a great favor for me,--a very great favor."
Leonidas's face fell. This kind of prelude and formula was familiar to him. It was usually followed by, "Promise me that you will never swear again," or, "that you will go straight home and wash your face," or some other irrelevant personality. But nobody with that sort of eyes had ever said it. So he said, a little shyly but sincerely, "Yes, ma'am."
"You are going to the post-office?"
This seemed a very foolish, womanish question, seeing that he was holding letters in his hand; but he said, "Yes."