He still scowled--but one got the impression that he was holding that frown consciously and stubbornly and not because his mood matched it.
Marion placed a cone at a point on the chart which was marked Greenville, aimed for Spring Garden and landed the cone neatly in the middle of Jack's belt.
"Missed the pocket a mile," he taunted grudgingly, hating to be pleasant and yet helpless against the girl's perfect composure and good humor.
"Give it back, and I'll try it again.

There's a place called the Pocket.

I'll try that, for luck." Then she added carelessly--"What would have happened, if you hadn't answered that man at all ?" "I'd have been canned, maybe." "Forevermore." She pretended to chalk her cue with a tiny powder puff which she took from a ridiculous vanity bag that swung from her belt.
"Wouldn't you kind of like to be canned--under the circumstances ?" "No, I wouldn't.

I need the money." Jack bit his lips to keep from grinning at the powder-puff play.
"Oh, I see." She tried another shot.

"Why don't you cut the legs off this table?
I would.