"I know that; but what state?"
"Kentucky," says he. "I been living here a great many years."
"You're a gentleman, Mr. Henderson," says Old Man Wright. "I wisht things wasn't just the way they are. But now, on the level, do you think we'd better say anything to Bonnie Bell at all about this here?"
Henderson must have thought it over quite a while. Then I heard him take a step or so. Maybe he picked up his hat. Maybe his cane knocked against a chair. Maybe they shook hands.
"I don't want to do anything that isn't best for her," says he at last. "I reckon maybe I ain't a good-enough man to marry her. I reckon maybe you're right, sir," says he.
Old Man Wright he don't talk no more for a little while. I heard them walk toward the door.
"No," says he at length. "Mr. Henderson, I don't reckon we'll say anything about this to Bonnie Bell after all. Good-by, sir. I wish I could ast you to come here often."
"Good-by," says he.
I seen him go down the walk after a while. He forgot all about his car waiting by the sidewalk and walked half a block before he come to. Of course, he couldn't come to see us no more after that.
As for me, I didn't have no friends either. Jimmie the hired man was about the only friend around there I cared much for, and now he was gone—fired, I supposed. Times got even lonesomer than ever.