“Hepsey Burke and me will make up the difference!”
Another cheer went up, and Hepsey’s face flamed scarlet amid the craning of necks and chaffing laughter—half puzzled, half understanding.
Sylvester Bascom rose to his feet, and there was silence. With assumed seriousness he addressed Hepsey, still standing:
“Mrs. Burke, so that it may be quite in order, do you endorse Mr. Jackson’s authority to speak for you in this matter?”
Every eye was turned upon them; but Hepsey could find not a word, so flabergasted was she by this sudden move of Jonathan’s. Jonathan himself colored furiously, but stuck to his guns, and Hepsey’s arm:
“Well, to tell the truth,” he replied in a jaunty voice, “Hepsey Burke and me’s goin’ to be married 307 right now, so I guess we’ll combine our resources, like.”
This announcement gave the coup de grace to any further attempt at orderliness, and the room became a seething chorus of congratulatory greetings aimed at Hepsey and Jonathan, in the midst of which Sylvester Bascom slipped out unnoticed.
