“I don't want to be told anything,” said the Harvester. “Save your strength. All I want to know is any way in which I can make this easier for you. Nothing else matters. I will tell you what I think; if you have any objections, make them. I will drive to the bank and get a draft for what you owe, and have that off your mind. Then we will get the license. After that I'll take you to the side door, slip you in the elevator and to the fitting room of a store where I know the manager, and you shall have some pretty clothing while I arrange for a minister, and I'll come for you with a carriage. That isn't the kind of wedding you or any other girl should have, but there are times when a man only can do his best. You will help me as much as you can, won't you?”
“Anything you choose. It doesn't matter——only be quick as possible.”
“There are a few details to which I must attend,” said the Harvester, “and the time will go faster trying on dresses than waiting alone. When you are properly clothed you will feel better. What did you say the amount you owe is?”
“You may get a draft for fifty dollars. I will pay the remainder when I earn it.”
“Ruth, won't you give me the pleasure of taking you home free from the worry of that debt?”
“I am not going to 'worry.' I am going to work and pay it.”
“Very well,” said the Harvester. “This is the bank. We will stop here.”
They went in and he handed her a slip of paper.
“Write the name and address on that?” he said.
As the slip was returned to him, without a glance he folded it and slid it under a wicket. “Write a draft for fifty dollars payable to that party, and send to that address, from Miss Ruth Jameson,” he said.