Thereupon Sherrington Trimm turned sharply on his heel and went in search of George. He found him standing on the verandah pensively examining a trail of ants that were busily establishing communication between the garden walk and a tiny fragment of sponge cake which had fallen upon the step during afternoon tea.
“George,” said Sherry in business-like tones, through which, however, the man’s kindly good nature was clearly appreciable, “do you mind telling me in a few words why you want to marry my daughter?”
George turned his head, and there was a pleasant smile upon his face. Then he pointed to the trail of ants.
“Mr. Sherrington Trimm,” he said, “do you mind explaining to me very briefly why those ants are so particularly anxious to get at that piece of cake?”
“Like it, I suppose,” Sherry answered laconically.
“That is exactly my case. I have gone to the length of falling very much in love with Mamie, and I wish to marry her. I understand that her views coincide with mine and that you make no objections. I think that the explanation is complete.”
“Very well stated. Now, look here. The only thing I care for on earth is that child’s happiness. She is not like all girls. You may have found that out, by this time. If you behave yourself as I think you will, she will be the best wife to you that man ever had. If you do not—well, there is no knowing what she will do, but whatever it is, it will surprise you. I do not know whether hearts break nowadays as easily as they used to, and I am not prepared to state positively that Mamie’s heart would break under the circumstances. But if you do not treat her properly, she will make it pretty deuced hot for you, and by the Eternal, so will I, my boy. I like to put the thing in its proper light.”
“You do,” laughed George, “with uncommon clearness. I am prepared to run all risks of that sort.”
“Hope so,” returned Sherry Trimm, smoking thoughtfully. “Now then, George,” he resumed in a more confidential tone, after a short pause, “there is a little matter of business between you and me. We are old friends, and I might be your father in point of age, and now about to become your father-in-law in point of fact. How about the bread and butter? I have no intention of giving Mamie a fortune. No, no, I know you are aware of that, but there are material considerations, you know. Now, just give me an idea of how you propose to live.”
“If I do not lose my health, we can live very comfortably,” George answered. “I think I can undertake to say that we should need no help. It would not be like this—like your way of living, of course. But we can have all we need and a certain amount of small luxury.”