And, with a waggish expression, he turned to Minnie.
"Be back in five minutes," he said; "try not to forget me, my flighty one."
When they were in the front room, he said:
"Before a license is issued, the licensor must be satisfied as to the preliminaries. Now, then, what can you tell me as to lap sitting and kissings?"
"You," cried Lee, in a sudden blaze of indignation, "are the freshest, most objectionable American I ever set eyes on."
The stout young man turned appealingly to Renier.
"You wouldn't say that," he said; "you'd say I was just typical, wouldn't you, now? And I wish you would tell her that, though in these backwoods I have been obliged to eschew my Chesterfield, I've got a great big heart in me and mean well."
During the last words of this speech he became appealingly wistful.
"Why," said he to Lee, "just because Minnie and me is stout, don't you think we know heaven when we see it—the empyrean! Yesterday she threw me down, and I says to her: 'Since all my life seems meant for "fails"—since this was written and needs must be—my whole soul rises up to bless your name in pride and thankfulness. Who knows but the world may end to-night?' To-day she sits in my lap and we see which can hug the hardest. Ever try that?"
And suddenly the creature's voice melted and shook. He was a genuine orator, as we Americans understand it, having that within his powers of voice that defies logic and melts the heart.