“I am sure of that,” replied the widow, “and I believe that you mean what you say.”
“Oh, I do, I do!” exclaimed Dennis impulsively; then, with a realization of the thin surface over which he was making such rapid strides despite the danger signals of conventionality, and with a diplomacy born of his native good sense, he glided, with cheerful Celtic sagacity, to safer footing by asking abruptly: “May I recommend myself”—as if he had not already done so—“for the position you offer?”
“Ah!” exclaimed the widow, from whom no alternation of his mobile countenance seemed to escape, “it is your turn now; I must not receive all the honors.”
“Well,” replied Dennis, altogether aware of the graceful courtesy of this exquisite woman, and constituted by nature, if not by past association, to accord it due appreciation, “well, there isn’t much to say, but here’s my outfit:
“I am sorry to have to begin badly. I don’t know anything about flowers. I can’t tell you, even, the difference between a shamrock and a clover.”
“All that can be easily remedied,” his listener reassured him; “but proceed.”
“But there’s one thing I’m sure about,” continued Dennis. “You can rely upon me, an’ that’s better.”
“It is, indeed,” answered the widow.
“I am anxious to do the best I can for myself,” resumed Dennis. “I have just one way of doing it, and that is to do the best I can for others.”
“That is real business principle,” exclaimed his companion, “and very rare. What else?”