"He's got a chance to make a swell marriage," announced Uncle Henry.
"What?" There was a curious catch in Lucia's voice.
"A rich marriage," Uncle Henry went on, almost smacking his lips over the words.
Lucia went over to the window, so that she would not face the invalid.
"Not as rich as yourn, of course," Uncle Henry pursued; "but rich for him—and he won't do it." He waited for her to say something; but she did not speak. There was a pause. Lucia looked out at the baking valley, and off to the far mountains, and the ticking of the clock could be heard like steady rain in a cistern. Then she went over to the table near the alcove, where a few books were scattered about. She opened one, and pretended to read. All the time Uncle Henry's eyes never left her. And she knew he was searching her thoughts.
"He won't?" she finally said.
"No—the gol darn fool!" the old fellow screamed again.
"Does he—does he love her?" Lucia brought herself to ask.
Quick as a flash Uncle Henry came back: "Sure he does! It's the only thing for him to do. He ain't got no right to be livin' alone. All he don't get skinned out of he gives away. Never gets nothin' to eat. If ever a feller needed a nice, sensible wife to take care of him, it's Gil. I know. Ain't I his uncle?"