While this was proceeding, an interesting affair was occurring on the opposite end of the room. A large, bony, red-faced young man, sat holding and squeezing the hand of a bouncing buxom girl, and indulging in several expressive remarks.
“I swow, if they don’t look purty. Wonder how the gal feels?”
“Why happy, of course,” replied his companion.
“By jingo, I bet he does; I know I would.”
“You would what?”
“Feel glorious if I was in his place.”
“What! marrying Ina Haverland?”
“No—I mean—ahem!—why, somebody else—that is—yes, somebody else.”
“Who else do you mean?” asked the girl, looking him steadily in the face.