"I'm taking no risks. I'm going to stop where I am. You see—er—" Beaver became suddenly hesitant, and smiled foolishly. "What I mean to say is—I'm engaged to be married."
He leant back in his seat and contemplated the astonishment in Humphrey's face.
"No—are you really!"
"Fact," retorted Beaver. "Been engaged for the last year."
Beaver going to be married! The news touched Humphrey oddly: Beaver could be earning very little more than Humphrey had earned at the time when he had almost plunged into married life, and there was no desire on Beaver's part to reach out and grasp greater things; he was in a life job, untouched by the wrack and torment of ambition, and the craving for success. Oh, assuredly, Beaver was not to be pitied in the equable calmness of his life and temperament.
"Well, I congratulate you, old man—though I never thought you were the marrying sort."
Beaver took the congratulations blushingly. "Nor did I, until I met Her."
He spoke of "Her" in an awed, impressive manner, as though She were some abnormal person far removed from all other people in the world. Humphrey tried to figure the girl whom Beaver had chosen. He thought of her as a rather plain, nice homely sort of person, with no great burden of intellect or imagination.
Beaver's hand dived into an inside pocket, and out came a leather case. This he opened, and displayed a photograph, reverently.