George Washington used profanity at the Battle of Monmouth. Hedrick kissed her. He instantly pushed her away with strong distaste. "There!" he said angrily. "I hope that'll satisfy you!" He belonged to his sex. "Kiss me some more, darling little boy!" she cried, and flung her arms about him. With a smothered shout of dismay he tried to push her off, and they fell from the fence together, into the yard, at the cost of further and almost fatal injuries to the lady's apparel. Hedrick was first upon his feet. "Haven't you got _any_ sense?" he demanded. She smiled unwaveringly, rose (without assistance) and repeated: "Kiss me some more, darling little boy!" "No, I won't! I wouldn't for a thousand dollars!" Apparently, she did not consider this discouraging. She began to advance endearingly, while he retreated backward. "Kiss me some----" "I won't, I tell you!" Hedrick kept stepping away, moving in a desperate circle. He resorted to a brutal formula: "You make me sick!" "Kiss me some more, darling lit----" "I won't!" he bellowed. "And if you say that again I'll----" "Kiss me some more, darling little boy!" She flung herself at him, and with a yell of terror he turned and ran at top-speed. She pursued, laughing sweetly, and calling loudly as she ran, "Kiss me some more, darling little boy! Kiss me some more, darling little boy!" The stricken Hedrick knew not whither to direct his flight: he dared not dash for the street with this imminent tattered incubus--she was almost upon him--and he frantically made for the kitchen door, only to swerve with a gasp of despair as his foot touched the step, for she was at his heels, and he was sickeningly assured she would cheerfully follow him through the house, shouting that damning refrain for all ears. A strangling fear took him by the throat--if Cora should come to be a spectator of this unspeakable flight, if Cora should hear that horrid plea for love! Then farewell peace; indeed, farewell all joy in life forever! Panting sobbingly, he ducked under the amorous vampire's arm and fled on. He zigzagged desperately to and fro across the broad, empty backyard, a small hand ever and anon managing to clutch his shoulder, the awful petition in his ears: "Kiss me some more, darling little boy!" "_Hedrick_!" Emerging from the kitchen door, Laura stood and gazed in wonder as the two eerie figures sped by her, circled, ducked, dodged, flew madly on. This commonplace purlieu was become the scene of a witch-chase; the moonlight fell upon the ghastly flitting face of the pursued, uplifted in agony, white, wet, with fay eyes; also it illumined the unreal elf following close, a breeze-blown fantasy in rags. "Kiss me some more, darling little boy!" Laura uttered a sharp exclamation. "Stand still, Hedrick!" she called. "You must!" Hedrick made a piteous effort to increase his speed. "It's Lolita Martin," called Laura. "She must have her way or nothing can be done with her. Stand _still_!"