With one great hand gripping the Swede, he
suddenly swung that startled individual at full length backward into
the still smouldering embers of the fire, holding the gasping Mike down
to earth with foot planted heavily upon his chest. It was over in an
instant, Swanson sputtering unintelligible oaths while beating sparks
from his overalls, the Irishman profanely conscious of the damage
wrought to his eye, and the overwhelming odds against him. Senorita
Mercedes clapped her little hands in delight at the spectacle, her
steps light as those of the dance, the girlish joy in her eyes frank
and unreserved.
"Ah, de Senor Brown--_bueno_! Dey vas just children to you even ven
dey fight, hey? It vas good to see such tings doin', just like de
play."
She circled swiftly up toward him, a happy bird of gay, fluttering
plumage, pressing her fingers almost caressingly along the swelling
muscle of his arm, and gazing with earnest admiration up into his face.
Beneath the witching spell of her eyes the man's cheeks reddened.
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