"A widower!" I put in. "What's that got to do with it?"
"Oh, nothin'—nothin'. Just a joke, that's all. But I realized right away that she and he mustn't be together or he'll make her talk screens in spite of herself, and that'll be dangerous for us. So, says I to myself, 'Jim Henry,' says I, 'it's up to you. You must keep her out of his way.' That's why I've been goin' to see her once in a while and—and takin' her to ride, and—and so on. See? Oh, I'm wise! You trust your old doctor of sick businesses."
He'd been talkin' a blue streak. Seemed almost as if he was afraid I'd say somethin' afore he could say it all. Now he stopped to get his breath and I put in a word.
"So," says I, slow, "that's why you're doin' it, hey? But ain't that—You know you promised to treat her just as if she was a man!"
"Well, ain't I?" he snaps—hotter than was needful, I thought. "If she was a man I'd make it my business to keep her in sight, wouldn't I? Well, then! I never saw such a chap as you are for lookin' for trouble when there isn't any."
He stalked off. I follered him; and as I done so I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon duck behind the calico counter. I judged he'd heard every word.
The finishin' work on the hotel hustled along and inside of a month we got word that 'twas time to put in our bid. Jacobs and I figured and figured till we got the price down to the last cent we thought it could stand, and then we sent our proposition over to Parkinson by mail.
"Wonder if Miss Georgianna's sent hers in," I says, casual.
"Oh, yes," says Jim, prompt; "she is goin' to mail it this morning'."
I didn't ask him how he knew. His chasin' round and keepin' watch on a girl who was as fair-minded and square as she was had always seemed too much like spyin' to please me, and I cal'lated he knew how I felt—at any rate he'd scurcely spoke her name since the day when I saw 'em autoin' together. But now I did say that, so long as the bids was in, it wouldn't be necessary for him to keep his eye on her any longer.