“That's all right, Hannah,” he observed, by way of consolation. “Kenelm ain't married yet. When he is you can help his wife look out for him. Either that or get married. Why don't you get married, Hannah?”
“Humph! Don't be silly, Obed Bangs.”
“That ain't silliness, that's sense. All you need to do is just h'ist the signal, 'Consort wanted,' and you'd have one alongside in no time. There's Caleb Hammond, for instance; he's a widower and—eh! look out!”
Miss Parker had dropped the plate she was just putting down upon the table. Fortunately it fell only a few inches and did not break.
“What do you mean by that?” she demanded sharply.
“I meant the plate. Little more and you'd have sent it to glory.”
“Never you mind the plate. I can look out for my own crockery. 'Twas cracked anyhow. And I guess you're cracked, too,” she added. “Talkin' about my—my marryin' Caleb Hammond. What put that in your head?”
“I don't know. I just—”
“Well, don't be silly. When I marry Caleb Hammond,” she added with emphasis, “'twill be after THIS.”
“So I cal'lated. I didn't think you'd married him afore this. There now, you missed a chance, Hannah. You and he ought to have got married that time when you went away together.”