At last she said, “Don’t you think it’s about time we went to bed?”
“I guess you are right,” he remarked; “let’s go.”
She lit a candle, and he was about to do the same, when she said, “I reckon one’s enough. One candle will light two folks to bed.”
“Undoubtedly it would, when those two people occupy the same room. But your candle won’t illuminate my chamber.”
“Ain’t we going to occupy the same room? Ain’t we married?”
“Ain’t we what?” shouted the gentleman.
“Married! Didn’t you kiss me across the table? That married us.”
A cold sweat spread over the drummer. He saw in an instant that if he said he wasn’t married to her she would make an outcry, and then her loving and much-tobacco-consuming father would arise in his wrath and carve him into cutlets, and her brothers would bring down their shot-guns and empty the contents into him. He must be strategic. He must put her off. So he said:
“Fairest of your sex, permit me to remark that I did not know that kissing across the table constituted a marriage-ceremony. But I am content. I have never seen one who so completely filled my idea of a beautiful, sweet, loving, and modest woman. However, I would never think of holding you to this marriage until I had asked the permission of your father to pay my addresses to you. To-morrow, at dinner, when the entire family are present, I will propose for your fair hand.”
This satisfied the lady, and, after bestowing upon him a fervent kiss, she went to her room, and he went to his. He packed his carpet-bag, took off his boots, and made tracks for the nearest railroad-station. He didn’t feel entirely safe until he had reached St. Louis. He hasn’t informed his wife of this little adventure. He’s afraid she might write out to Arkansas for the facts in the case, and then he might get arrested for bigamy. Women sometimes won’t listen to reason, you know.