My sisters and myself had a fascination for the other sex that was almost incredible. At one time we had a Proposal Competition every week; each of us put in sixpence, and the girl who got the greatest number of proposals took the pool. Casey or I generally won. Then one week I encountered on the Heath the annual beanfeast of the Pottey Asylum for the Feeble-minded, and won with a score of a hundred and seven, and I think the others said it was not fair. Anyhow, the competitions were discontinued.
Really, the way our lodger pestered my sisters and myself with his absolute inattentions is difficult to explain. Anyone might have thought that he did not know we were there. While the Proposal Competitions were on, not one of us thought it worth while to waste time on the man. We could get a better return for the same amount of fascination in other quarters. Afterwards I thought that possibly his employment in the milk-trade might be the cause of his extraordinary mildness, and that it would be kind to offer him a little encouragement.
He usually went for a walk on Sunday mornings, and one Sunday I said that I would accompany him.
“Better not,” he said. “Looks to me like rain.”
“But you have an umbrella,” I pointed out.
“Aye,” he said, “and when two people share one umbrella, they both get all the drippings from it and none of the protection. You take a nice book and read for a bit.”
“No,” I said. “I’m coming with you, and though it’s Leap Year, I definitely promise not to propose to you.”
“Well,” he said, “that makes a difference.”
I thrust my arm into his gaily and confidentially, and he immediately unhooked. We went on to the Heath together.