"And I've sown my second crop of wild oats."
"And yet," said the widow leaning her chin in her hand and looking up thoughtfully under her purple feather, "it would be a great triumph——"
"I won't be put in harness!" protested the bachelor.
The widow considered him gravely.
"There's plenty of material in you," she declared. "You could be trimmed off and cut down and——"
"I'm too tough to cut!"
"And relined."
"I'm almost moth-eaten now!" moaned the bachelor.
The widow leaned forward and scrutinized him with interest.