"Yes—"
"What of her? What has she been doing? How is it possible? Good Heavens! you haven't—" I stopped at the fearful suspicion that came to me.
"Yes, I have!" said Jack, sulkily. "I know what you mean. I've proposed to her."
I started up from the sofa on which I was lounging—my pipe dropped to the ground—a tumbler followed. I struck my clinched fist on the table.
"Randolph!" said I, "this is too much. Confound it, man! Are you mad, or are you a villain? What the devil do you mean by trifling with the affections of that little girl? By Heavens! Jack Randolph, if you carry on this game with her, there's not a man in the regiment that won't join to crush you."
"Pitch in," said Jack quietly, looking at me at the same time with something like approval. "That's the right sort of thing. That's just what I've been saying to myself. I've been swearing like a trooper at myself all the way here. If there's any one on earth that every fellow ought to stand up for, it's little Louie. And now you see the reason why I want you to attend to that little affair of the gravestone."
At Jack's quiet tone, my excitement subsided. I picked up my pipe again, and thought it over.
"The fact is, Jack," said I, after about ten minutes of profound
smoking, "I think you'll have to carry out that little plan of yours.
Sell out as soon as you can, and take Louie with you to a farm in
Minnesota."
"Easier said than done," said Jack, sententiously.
"Done? why, man, it's easy enough. You can drop the other three, and retire from the scene. That'll save Louie from coming to grief."