"Tell him, Monroe; tell him," said Peter, rubbing his hands, and blowing smoke like a whale spouting water.
"There's nothing tangible yet," said the yielding Monroe.
"Tell it, Monroe!" commanded Peter.
"What is it?" asked Cobb, sarcastically.
"Well; here goes. First, I am working into the good graces of the father first," said he. "When I accomplish that feat, having Winthrope out of my way, I shall press my suit for the young lady's hand. I have been to the Jarney home a great many times for dinner this winter"—he looked as if he wanted to keep the matter a secret—"and I have always found young Winthrope there. He was permitted to see her, as Mr. Jarney explained, as the result of an hallucination caused by an auto accident, and her illness following it. I never got an opportunity to see her. Of course—" he seemed to be unconcerned about her illness, so listlessly did he talk—"it would have been a delicate matter for me to have attempted to have seen her while ill; so I concluded to abide my time. Getting him away was my first scheme. This accomplished, and, she recovering as I am told, I shall take the first opportunity presented to ask her."
During the recital of the above. Monroe acted more like an automatic talking machine, than a human, so inanimate was his facial expression.
"Would she throw herself away on you?" asked Cobb, drawing one eyelid down as an accompaniment to a mental sneer.
"Am I not as worthy as anybody else, especially Winthrope, who is poor, and has no ancestry?" said Monroe, without a rising or falling inflection in his voice.
"Bully, Monroe; well said!" roared Peter, rubbing and smoking. "But you fellows forget that a woman is usually made a party to such little affairs of the heart. I've had experience, gentlemen; experience; and look at this grand house," waving his hand, with a flourish, around the maroon tassel.
"That's true," assented Monroe, without a tremor.