Coble roared with laughter.
“There, that’s a fair offer for you, my boy.”
Matt felt very embarrassed, but he ventured to hope, “for the poor devil’s sake,” that Miss Coble would get married soon.
“I hope not,” said Coble, to Matt’s relief. “You’re forgettin’ this poor devil. What am I to do without my Rosie?”
“Oh, you’ll get along all right,” said Miss Coble, with a playful tug at his drooping white beard. “You can send for Aunt Clara.”
“I wish you’d be serious about the poor man in the prison,” Matt pleaded.
“I am serious,” Miss Coble insisted, indignantly.
“Oh yes, she’s serious,” interposed the parent. “She’s solid, is Rosie. You can’t squeeze her like this ’ere sponge. ’Pears to me the only way to help your man is to hurry on the marriage.”
The advent of a customer here removed him, chuckling, from the conversation; and while he was talking angrily to the new-comer, Matt, who had been itching to slip away, found himself compelled to linger on and entertain the young lady, a task which he ended by finding pleasant enough. When she at last said she must go about her marketing, he even asked if there was anything he could carry for her.
“Gracious, no! we get the things sent. But you can walk along, if you have nothing better to do.”