For some weeks previous Ogden had watched for the right opportunity to make a formal announcement of his plans to the head of the bank and to ask for a week's leave. For nearly a month, now, Brainard had not looked at him, had not spoken to him; and when he entered the old man's office to make his request Brainard still refrained from looking at him, and in speaking to him was as curt as possible.
"We need all our men right here; you must give up any idea of going off."
"Blow hot, blow cold," thought George, and asked Jessie what she preferred to do under the circumstances.
She had planned a long and rapid and lavish tour, and the tears of disappointment started to her eyes.
"Go anyway," she cried.
"Go? Do you know what he is?" And "Do you know what business is?" he almost added.
She lapsed into a sullen silence.
"We could arrange the wedding for a Saturday," he suggested, "and spend Sunday in Wisconsin."
This proposition stuck in her throat, but presently she gulped it down. "Only don't call it a wedding-trip," she said tartly. "Well," she went on, "we'll settle that. We must, because the cards have got to be started out pretty soon—all those people who have entertained me have got to be remembered. There's some in Providence, and in Detroit, and in St. Paul. And don't let me forget those Louisville people that took me to Old Point."
They spent their Sunday in Oconomowoc, along with the Seven Bridegrooms. The day was wet and gloomy, and most of the time they sat in-doors over a grate-fire. Mists dulled the blazing red of the maples, and a thick fall of leaves was churned into the mud before the house by the wheels of farm wagons returning home from church. Only at sunset did the clouds clear away, and the full moon rose over one lake while the sun sank below the other.