“I—I believe I’d heard so,” replied Andy, still very confused and hardly knowing what he said.
“And you made no more of going for me than as if I’d been a counter-jumper?” continued the young man.
“I forgot,” said Andy. “However——” and he began to trudge on, very much ashamed of himself.
“Look here,” said the young man. “I’ll tell you a thing I didn’t mean to. There wasn’t no need for you to fight me about Gladys. I promised the old man last night I would marry her. But I wasn’t going to tell you that when you started jawing me.”
“I see,” said Andy. “Well, I’m glad,” and he started to plod on again, very shaky about the knees.
“Look here,” said the young man, following him, “you’re not fit to walk home. I gave you a doing, I did. Here’s my bike.”
Andy looked at him and he looked at Andy, and the virile souls of both met in that look and, in a sense, shook hands.
“Thanks,” said Andy, mounting the bicycle.
“I say,” the young man shouted after him, “we were going to be married at the registry in Bardswell, but you can marry us if you like.”
“All right,” Andy called back over his shoulder.