"Mebbe it's along of my red hair?"
"It is red, isn't it?" Polly smiled kindly.
Slim ran his fingers through his locks, and looked at his fingers, as if expecting the color would come off on his hands. "Tain't blue," he said.
Another thought came to him. "Freckles," he asked laconically.
Polly only shook her head.
"There's only one cure for freckles—sandpaper," grinned Slim.
"But it isn't freckles," replied the girl.
Slim looked at his hands and feet. "Maybe it's fat?" he hazarded. "Oh, I know I'm too fat! It beats all how I do keep fat."
Slim looked into his hat and sighed. "Well, I suppose we don't get married this year, do we?"
"No, Slim," said Polly gently.