“I had hoped,” said Achilles sadly, “that now that Dunwoody is reduced to about one half his original dimensions, I might hope to have you consider my claims.”
“Never! It can never be!”
“Because I am about moving out on the Pottawatomie Reservation, and with you as my bride I could make it a little paradise here below. If you will take me, the Reservation is yours in fee-simple.”
“I scorn the offer, sir!”
“You scorn it, do you? Scorn the most splendid tract of land in the Mississippi Valley for the sake of marrying half of a man, whom you’ll have to carry to church in a market basket and to feed with a spoon!”
“Yes, sir. I scorn it and you. For to you and your wicked schemes against the unoffending Indians, this awful, this dreadful suffering of Major Dunwoody is due. I hate you! Yes, I hate you! Leave the house this instant, sir!”
Smith withdrew, and as he closed the door Pandora fell upon the sofa and cried as if her poor little heart would break.
Enter Mrs. M’Duffy.
“Pandora, my child, what is the matter?”
“Didn’t that horrid Smith tell you?”