"You're more to me than everybody else throwed together."
"No, Homer. Before I didn't think I cared.... I do care, Homer. I—I love you. I don't mind saying it now.... I'm going away in the morning."
It was a point they argued all the day, but Yvette was not to be moved, and Homer was in despair. As he drove into the village that evening, glum and unhappy, Yvette said: "Stop at Mr. Baines's, please, Homer. I want to speak to him."
Scattergood was in his accustomed place before his store, shoes on the piazza beside him, and his feet, guiltless of socks, reveling in their liberty.
"Mr. Baines," said Yvette, "I've made up my mind to go away to-morrow."
"Um!... To-morrer, eh? Made up your mind you don't want Homer, have ye? Don't blame ye. He's a mighty humble critter."
"He's the best man in the world," said Yvette, softly, "and I love him ... and that—that's why I'm going. I can't stay and make him miserable."
Scattergood studied her face a moment, and cleared his throat noisily. "Hum!... I swan to man! Goin', be ye?... Mebby that's best.... But they hain't no sich hurry. Be out of a job, won't ye? Uh-huh! Wa-al, you stay till Thursday mornin' and kind of visit with Homer, and say good-by, and then you kin go. Thursday mornin'.... Not a minute before."
"But—"
"Thursday mornin's the time, I said.... G'-by."