"But what are we goin' to do?"
"Well, I'll tell ye what we mustn't do. We mustn't tog her out jest yet."
"Why not?" asked Anson, not seeing these subtle distinctions of time and place.
"Because, you tog her out this week or next, without any apparent reason, in a new hat an' dress an' gloves, an' go down to one o' these sociables with her, an' you'd have to clean out the whole crowd. They'd all be winkin' an' nudgin' an' grinnin'—see?"
"Wal, go on," said the crushed giant. "What'll we do?"
"Just let things go on as they are for the present till we git ready to send her to school."
"But I promised the togs."
"All right. I've stated the case," Gearheart returned, with the air of a man who washed his hands of the whole affair.
Anson rose with a sudden gesture. "Jest hear her! whistlin' away like a lark. I don't see how I'm goin' to go in there an' spoil all her fun; I can't do it, that's all."
"Well, now, you leave it all to me. I'll state the case to her in a way that'll catch her—see if I don't. She ain't no common girl."