“He started as a pack peddler.”
Clara would not be outdone in generous candor. “Well—papa was a farm hand. Don’t all that sort of thing seem terribly far away, Nell? Just look at us. Think of us marrying a man like this Helm.”
Miss Clearwater shivered. “He was pretty dreadful—wasn’t he?”
“I don’t suppose the poor fellow ever had a decent suit in his life—or ever before met ladies.”
“Yet,” said Miss Clearwater, absent and reflective, “there’s no telling what he’ll be, before he gets through.”
“Talking about your conquest, Nell?” called Bart from the front seat.
Miss Clearwater colored haughtily. Clara cried, “Don’t be rude, Bart.”
“Rude?” retorted Hollister. “Anyone could see with half an eye that he was overhead in love with Nell. Wait till he comes to call.”
“Call?” Clara laughed. “He’d never venture to appear at our front door.”
“We’ll go to hear him when he strikes Harrison,” said Bart.