“I should say I didn't!” I exclaimed, fervently.
“Yes, that's the way it seemed to me. So she hadn't ought to go to Mayberry. And we can't leave her here alone in London. She'd be lonesome, for one thing, and those everlastin' Crippses might find out where she was, for another. It may be that that Solomon and his wife will let her go and say nothin', but I doubt it. So long as they think she's got a cent comin' to her they'll pester her in every way they can, I believe. That woman's nose can smell money as far as a cat can smell fish. No, we can't leave Little Frank here alone. Of course, I might stay with her and you might go by yourself, but—”
This way out of the difficulty had occurred to me; so when she seemed to hesitate, I asked: “But what?”
“But it won't be very pleasant for you in Mayberry. You'd have considerable explainin' to do. And, more'n that, Hosy, there's all that packin' up to do and I've seen you try to pack a trunk too often before. You're just as likely to pack a flat-iron on top of a lookin' glass as to do the other thing. No, I'm the one to go to Mayberry. I must go by myself and you must stay here in London with her.”
“I can't do that, Hephzy,” I said. “How could I?”
“You couldn't, as things are, of course. But if they were different. If she was your wife you could. And then if that Solomon thing came you could—”
I interrupted. “My wife!” I repeated. “Hephzy, what are you talking about? Do you mean—”
“I mean that you and she might be married right off, to-day perhaps. Then everything would be all right.”
I stared at her.
“But—but she wouldn't consent,” I stammered. “It is impossible. She wouldn't think of such a thing.”