"What air ye doin' down here, Sandy?" inquired Mrs. Brewer.
"Me? oh, me!" He paused to choose his words. "I got some news for you folks. I air goin' to get married."
"Air that why ye're all togged up?" Jake queried. "Gosh, but ye air some beau, Sandy.... Ain't he, ma?"
"Yep, I air on my way to get my girl. I been waitin' over three years for this here day, an' now—I air got flowers in this bundle."
"Who ye goin' to marry, Sandy?" demanded Mrs. Brewer.
Letts grinned again, straightened his shoulders pompously, and lined his feet together on a crack in the floor.
"Tess Skinner," he answered, looking from the man to the woman.
Mrs. Brewer dropped on a stool, and her husband's jaws fell apart in astonishment.
"Tess Skinner?" he repeated dully. "Pretty little Tess Skinner?"
"Well, I swan!" gasped the squatter woman. "Did she say she'd have ye, Sandy?"