“Why don’t yuh get married, then?” he says. “Why don’t yuh cast your loop over that widow in Bent Willow? The chances is she savvies building a cake out uh nothing but bad flour and hope.”
That was a come-back at Shooting-star, who wasn’t a bit too liberal in buying stuff to cook with.
“I wouldn’t take er as a gift,” says Shooting-star. And he goes back to his magazine.
We played for awhile, and kinda forgot the subject, when the Old Man breaks out in a new spot.
“Boys,” he says, “listen to this once:
“A bright, loving, sensible young lady, with some means, would like to correspond with affectionate, honorable gentleman; one with some country property preferred. Must be sober, honest, and willing to make a good and loving husband. No trifler need answer this, or widower. Object, matrimony.
“L. A.”
He looked at us expectant, and waited for somebody to say something.
“Three,” said Ellis, looking at me.
“Pitch it,” said I; and he played the deuce uh spades.
Shooting-star grunted. “Anyway, I ain’t no trifler, and I ain’t a widower,” he said, like we’d been arguing the point with him, and had raised doubts of his being able to qualify.