“H'm,” mused the Doctor, with his chin again upon his stick, “I should perhaps be working in thy interest, as much as in mine. Then thee can afford to come up fair and square to the mark. Of course, thee has all the papers to show for thy own property?”
“I guess there'll be no trouble about that,” Barton answered, carelessly. “I lend on none but the best security. 'T will take a little time—must go to Chester—so we needn't wait for that; 't will be all right!”
“Oh, no doubt; but hasn't thee overlooked one thing?”
“What?”
“That Martha should first know thy mind towards her.”
It was true, he had overlooked that important fact, and the suggestion came to him very like an attack of cramp. He laughed, however, took out a red silk handkerchief, and tried to wipe a little eagerness into his face.
“No, Doctor!” he exclaimed, “not forgot, only keeping the best for the last. I wasn't sure but you might want to speak to her yourself, first; but she knows, doesn't she?”
“Not to my direct knowledge; and I wouldn't like to venture to speak in her name.”
“Then, I'll—that is, you think I'd better have a talk with her. A little tough, at my time of life, ha! ha!—but faint heart never won fair lady; and I hadn't thought of going that far to-day, though of course, I'm anxious,—been in my thoughts so long,—and perhaps—perhaps”—
“I'll tell thee,” said the Doctor, seeming not to notice Barton's visible embarrassment, which he found very natural; “do thee come up again next First-day afternoon prepared to speak thy mind. I will give Martha a hint of thy purpose beforehand, but only a hint, mind thee; the girl has a smart head of her own, and thee'll come on faster with her if thee pleads thy own cause with thy own mouth.”