“He is the plaintiff who seeks to establish the claim that he is a better man than you are. My defense has been so able that he has challenged me, and I have named the weapons; they are to be pitchforks—American pitchforks.”
Forbes laughed and remarked:
“You must take him for a bunch of hay.”
“June grass!” I answered. “We'll need some one to rake after, as we used to say on the farm, and I may ask you to be my second.”
“Does the count amount to much?”
“Not much; I have had him added up and his total properly audited.”
“How are the judge and jury?”
“The judge is in our favor; the jury is in doubt. Gwendolyn insists that you don't want to marry any one at present.”
“I want to, but I probably shall not,” he answered. “When I marry I want to have done something besides having just lived. It seems as if it were due my wife. Besides, when I get married I want to stay married; I don't want any girl to marry me and give her heart to some other fellow. She must have time to be sure of one thing—that I am the right man. That cannot be proven with passionate vows or bouquets or guitar music, but only by sufficient acquaintance. On the other hand, I'd like to know, or think I know, that she is the right girl. If Gwendolyn really wants to marry a count it would be silly for me to try to convince her that I am the better fellow. She must see that for herself. If she doesn't, I should assume that she was right. God knows that I'm not so stuck on myself as to question her judgment. I'm very fond of her, but I have never let her suspect it.”
“If I were you I'd begin to arouse her suspicions.”