"Oh, nothing much," said Matt, "that is—well, she said it was too bad that you couldn't get out, and that you should have to suffer for somebody else's meanness, but she hoped you'd never gamble again."
"I won't," said Jack: "I'll swear it on my Testament, right away." And Jack's head was withdrawn for a moment, and then reappeared, its owner remarking:
"There—that thing is fixed."
"And she sent you a posy—I've got it in my hat. How will I get it up to you?"
"I'll let a fish line down," whispered Jack, and hastily suited the action to the word. "Put it on the upper hook," Jack continued, "that's a new one, and no fish has ever mussed it any."
The precious token of regard was hauled up, and Jack kissed it, modestly retiring his head as he did so. Then he looked from the window again, with an extremely radiant face, and whispered:
"Oh, Matt, I never was so happy in all my life!"
"Not even when you'd got up to a woodpecker's nest?" asked Matt.
"No," said Jack, "nor when I caught that big salmon last year, either."
"Is that so?" asked Matt, reflectively. "Then I guess it's time for me to be thinking about getting in love. And I know it's dinner time. Good-bye."