“Well, Mrs. Betty,” he said presently, “seein’ I can’t possibly marry you, I don’t mind tellin’ you that I think the next best thing would be to marry Hepsey Burke. She’s been a mighty good friend and neighbor ever since my wife died; but she wouldn’t look at the likes of me. ’Twouldn’t be the least use of proposin’ to her.”
“How do you know it wouldn’t? You are not afraid of proposing, are you?”
“No, of course not; but I can’t run over and propose, as I would ask her to lend me some clothes-line. That’d be too sudden; and courtin’ takes a lot of time and trouble. I guess I ’most forgot how by 145 this time; and then, to tell you the truth, I always was a bit shy. It took me near onto five years to work myself up to the sticking point when I proposed to my first wife.”
“Well, now that’s easy enough; Mrs. Burke usually sits on the side porch after supper with her knitting. Why don’t you drop over occasionally, and approach the matter gradually? It wouldn’t take long to work up to the point.”
“But how shall I begin? I guess you’ll have to give me lessons.”
“Oh, make her think you are very lonely. Pity is akin to love, you know.”
“But she knows well enough I’m mighty lonely at times. That won’t do.”
“Then make her think that you are a regular daredevil, and are going to the bad. Maybe she’ll marry you to save you.”
“Me, goin’ to the bad at my age, and the Junior Warden of the church, too. What are you thinkin’ of?”
“It is never too late to mend, you know. You might try being a little frisky, and see what happens.”