Yes, it was the old, old plan, and easier managed in those days, when England was very far from us and one who had crossed the ocean was a curiosity.
“Ralph ain't the right timber for a hero,” said Smead, as we sat together one day. “He won't do.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Too easily bamboozled. For one thing, a hero has got to be bigger than his father, especially when his father is only knee-high to a johnny cake. If I were young an' full o' vinegar, I'd jump in an' cut him out.”
I made no answer.
“You're a good jumper,” he suggested; “why don't ye jump for this big prize? The girl has beauty an' character an' wit an' wealth. Don't be afraid; hop in an' take her.”
“It's impossible,” I said. “She don't care for me; but that's only one reason.”
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed.
“She told me so,” I insisted.
“Young man, I maintain that a lady cannot lie; but it ain't always best to believe her. You didn't expect that she was goin' to toss her heart into your lap at the first bid, did ye? They don't do that, not if they 're real cunnin'. They like to hang on to their hearts an' make ye bid for 'em. They want to know how much you'll give; and they're right, absolutely right. It's good business. A girl has to be won.”