“Wait a minute,” interrupted Mr. Link. “The thing is, he may be resigning on account of ill health. Now that I’ve had a good look at you, Oliver, I must say your eyes seem a little liverish. Not exactly liverish, either, but sort of bright and feverish. If you—”
“I am perfectly well, Uncle Silas,” said Oliver, smiling. Again his eyes sought Jane’s. They seemed darker and deeper than before. “No, it isn’t my health that’s caused me to give up my job. Needn’t worry about my health, dad.” While he addressed his father he was subtly conscious of speaking solely for Jane’s benefit. “But, come along; let’s have dinner. I’m as hungry as a bear. We can talk about my affairs afterwards. With the cigars. I brought you a box of the finest cigars I could find in Chicago, father. You’ll hear the flapping of angels’ wings every time you light one of ’em and take a few puffs.”
“You’ve got no business buying expensive cigars when you’re out of a job,” grumbled his father. “Giving up a place with seven—”
“Maybe he’s going to get married,” burst out the Mayor, nudging the young man in the ribs. “That accounts for his eyes being feverish and—and sometimes when a feller is in love he does get to be a little bit liverish.”
“That accounts for it,” said Mr. Sikes, very much relieved. “He’s going to marry a woman with plenty of money. He don’t have to work any more, Ollie. I hope to goodness she ain’t got any brothers to make trouble for him after the nuptials have worn off a little. One brother-in-law can do more to make a feller—”
“I am not going to be married,” said Oliver, blushing for no reason at all, and thereby convincing the attentive Jane that if he wasn’t going to be married it was through no fault of his own. “Nobody will have me,” he added lamely.
“Of course, if you’ve been going around telling everybody what’s ahead of you,” said Mr. Sikes, “I don’t blame ’em for not wanting to risk being tied up to a feller—”
“Shut up!” cried Serepta Grimes, from the dining-room door. “You make me sick, Joe Sikes, the way you go on. Dinner’s ready. You sit over here next to Jane, Oliver. This is your place, Sam.”
“There’s another thing,” said the Mayor, very profoundly. “If you take this job we’re offering you, Oliver, it’s bound to lead to something better. I don’t mind telling you that I’m not going to be a candidate for re-election. I’ve got two years more to serve and then I’m through. This here town needs a young, active, progressive man for mayor. Some of us have been talking things over and we’ve about decided that we know the feller that ought to step into my shoes. He is a young man of vast experience, education, integrity, ability, and he’s a good Republican—at least, his father is. My shoes are pretty good-sized, but that’s a blessing. No matter who steps into ’em, they’re not likely to pinch. What size shoes do you wear, Oliver?”
“Sh!” hissed Mr. Baxter. “The parson’s waiting to bless the food.”