"That's my man," she exclaimed. "Blizzard! He's got a wonderful face,
Bubbles, and you said just what it looks like. I'm going to make a
bust of him."

"He's coming here?"

"Yes. Why not?"

The boy was troubled. "Miss Barbara," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't go
for to touch that man with a ten-foot pole."

"I shan't touch him, except with compasses to take measurements. He's
civil-spoken enough."

"He's bad," said Bubbles, "bad. And when I say bad, I mean millions of
things that you never heard tell of, and never will. If he comes in
here--and, and raises hell, don't blame _me_."

Barbara laughed. "He will come here, and sit perfectly still," she said,
"until he wishes he was dead. And then he will receive money, and an
invitation to come to-morrow. And then he will go away."

Bubbles looked unnaturally solemn and dejected.

"Besides," said Barbara, "I have you to protect me."

Though Bubbles made no boast, a world of resolution swept into his great
eyes, and you knew by the simultaneous rising toward his chin of all the
buttons upon the front of his jacket that he had drawn the long breath
of courage, and stiffened the articulations of his spine.