“Wull, I declare!� said the judge at last. “That is going some! Never quite reckoned on my darter hookin’ up with a shuffer, but, having saved me from drownding, you’ve took me at a disadvantage. If Bessie has said yes, and you kin furnish the proper creedenshuls I’ll have to take your proposition under consideration, I guess.�
The governor looked Bessie Wiggin over appraisingly, and decided that he had made no mistake in thinking her an unusually pretty and charming young lady.
“It is sudden,� he said, laughing softly, “and it would not have happened if George had not offered to drive for me to-day, my regular chauffeur being ill. In the way of credentials, judge, let me state that he is my son.�
The judge’s sister sat bolt upright in a jiffy. The judge coughed behind his hand, the pucker crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“Them creedenshuls, governor,� he stated, “are wholly satisfactory to me.� His whole body seemed to shake oddly. “I’m afraid I’m going to have a chill, after all,� he added. “I think the governor and me had better take a little walk in the moonlight.�
THE END
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the May 1, 1915 issue of the Top-Notch magazine published by Street & Smith Company.