“You'll have to get into bigger business,” he suggested. “Jo's a lady. I ain't goin' to tell 'em that you're smoothin' rocks. It don't fit ye—someway.”
“It's respectable,” I said, “and I've been studying every day.”
I didn't have the courage to speak of my discharge, and I hoped, too, that Mr. Crocket would soon take me back.
“You've got to be a big gun if you're goin' to fit her, there ain't any two ways about that. You'd better go to school, an', if you need it, I'll lend you a little money.”
I thanked the big-hearted fellow, and said that I would consult my mother about it.
“You set down an' write her a letter,” said he, “an' I'll see that she gets it.”
“But the Colonel—” I began.
“He ain't forbid you to write, has he?” Sam went on. “You write her a good, long, high-toned letter, such as a lady ought to get. You know how to do it. Don't speak o' the rocks. I've told 'em that you was a gentleman, an' very partic'lar fine in every way, shape, an' manner, an' I guess she b'lieves it. She can marry the best chap in the land if she wants to.”
I took his hard hand in mine. “Sam, you're a friend worth having,” I said.
“You done me a favor once,” he went on, “an' I ain't forgot it, an' never will, an' I'm goin' to help you in any way that I can. Do you remember when I was married? She just took hold o' my bit an' give me a slap on the side, an' walked me up to the neck-yoke where I belonged, an', old boy, I'd go through fire an' water for her.”