‘“I dare say you did, Sir,” said Tom Smart.
‘“However,” said the old gentleman, “that’s not the point. Tom! I want you to marry the widow.”
‘“Me, Sir!” said Tom.
‘“You,” said the old gentleman.
‘“Bless your reverend locks,” said Tom (he had a few scattered horse-hairs left)—“bless your reverend locks, she wouldn’t have me.” And Tom sighed involuntarily, as he thought of the bar.
‘“Wouldn’t she?” said the old gentleman firmly.
‘“No, no,” said Tom; “there’s somebody else in the wind. A tall man—a confoundedly tall man—with black whiskers.”
‘“Tom,” said the old gentleman; “she will never have him.”
‘“Won’t she?” said Tom. “If you stood in the bar, old gentleman, you’d tell another story.”
‘“Pooh, pooh,” said the old gentleman. “I know all about that.”