“Well, boy, how stands the matter now?”
The son knew very well what was meant, but he thought it best to ask, with an air of indifference,—
“What matter, Daddy?”
“What matter, eh? The colt's lame leg, or the farrow o' the big sow? Gad, boy! don't you ever think about the gal, except when I put it into your head?”
“Oh, that!” exclaimed Alfred, with a smirk of well-assumed satisfaction—“that, indeed! Well, I think I may say, Daddy, that all's right in that quarter.”
“Spoken to her yet?”
“N-no, not right out, that is; but since other folks have found out what I'm after, I guess it's plain enough to her. And a good sign is, that she plays a little shy.”
“Shouldn't wonder,” growled the old man. “Seems to me you play a little shy, too. Have to take it in my own hands, if it ever comes to anything.”
“Oh, it isn't at all necessary; I can do my own courting,” Alfred replied, as he wiped his razor and laid it away.
“Do it, then, boy, in short order! You're too old to stand in need o' much billin' and cooin'—but the gal's rayther young, and may expect it—and I s'pose it's the way. But I'd sooner you'd step up to the Doctor, bein' as I can only take him when he comes here to me loaded and primed. He's mighty cute and sharp, but if you've got any gumption, we'll be even with him.”