By the way, are you a
Cookie?"
"A WHAT?"
"Cookie. Tourist. No, of course you're not. No tour would be
imbecile enough to touch here. The question is: How did you get
here?"
"Ah, that's my secret."
"Or, rather, are you here at all? Perhaps you're just a figment of
the overstrained ear. And if I undertook to look, there wouldn't
be anything there at all."
"Of course, if you don't believe in me, I'll fly away on a
sunbeam."
"Oh, please! Don't say that! I'm doing my best."
So panic-stricken was the appeal that she laughed again, in spite
of herself.
"Ah, that's better! Now, come, be honest with me. You're not
pretty, are you?"
"Me? I'm as lovely as the dawn."
"So far, so good. And have you got long golden--that is to say,
silken hair that floats almost to your knees?"
"Certainly," she replied, with spirit.
"Is it plentiful enough so that you could spare a little?"
"Are you asking me for a lock of my hair?" she queried, on a note
of mirth. "For a stranger, you go fast."
"No; oh, no!" he protested. "Nothing so familiar. I'm offering you
a bribe for conversation at the price of, say, five hairs, if you
can sacrifice so many.
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