"That's pretty good," said Jack, beginning to walk up and down the room, "and it's delicate, too; you can tell her I haven't sent that message to any other girl in town, and that I'd rather die than do it. Go ahead."
But Matt could not think of anything else to say, and Jack himself thought of something, but made several ineffectual attempts to give voice to it. At length he assumed a heroic attitude and said:
"Tell her that in my rigorous confinement my sole comfort is taken from thoughts of her."
"Golly!" exclaimed Matt; "that sounds just like a book! It's just stunning. I'll write that down and commit it to memory on the way, for it's too good to spoil."
Matt pencilled the sentence on the back of a bill which he had been sent to pay, and over Matt's shoulder Jack read the words several times, with a comfort which gradually grew into pride. Then he said:
"I wish I had something to send her as a proof of my—regard. Do you suppose she ever plays marbles nowadays—I've got a gorgeous glass alley that I could send her."
"I don't know about that," said Matt, thinking profoundly, "but I guess it would be all right, for she can trade it to her brother Billy for his sleigh-line to make a skipping-rope of—I'll just suggest that to her."
"Good," said Jack. "You are a true friend, Matt. When do you suppose you could come back and report? I can't wait till to-morrow morning, but mother won't let you come in a second time to-day, I'm afraid."
"I'll come under the window and whistle," said Matt, "and you can put your head out and I'll whisper up."
"All right," said Jack, "and you'll hurry, won't you?"