“Teacher,” he said, “please, may I ask a question?”
“You should hold up your hand if you wish permission to speak,” was the stern reply.
“Please consider it held up.”
“Is the question as important as 'How many bushels did C. sell?' which happens to be my particular trouble just now.”
“It is to me, certainly.” Ralph was serious enough now. “It is a question that I have been wrestling with for some time. It is, shall I take the position that has been offered me in the West, or shall I stay here and become superintendent of the station? The superintendent's place may be mine, I think, if I want it.”
Elsie laid down her pencil and hesitated for a moment before she spoke. When she did reply her face was turned away from her companion.
“I should think that question might best be decided by comparing the salaries and prospects of the two positions,” she said quietly.
“The two positions are much alike in one way. You know what the life at the station means the greater portion of the year—no companions of your own age and condition, no society, no amusements. The Western offer means all this and worse, for the situation is the same all the year. I say these things because I hope you may be willing to consider them, not from my point of view solely, but from yours.”
“From mine?”
“Yes. You see I am recklessly daring to hope that, whichever lot is chosen, you may be willing to share it with me—as my wife. Elsie, do you think you could consider the question from that viewpoint?”