He paused, as if waiting for Calvin to avail himself of this handsome offer.
"Well!" said Calvin, rather morosely. "I ain't got no smarter woman to show. What are you drivin' at, Sam Sill?"
Mr. Sam's little eyes were twinkling, and his sharp features were twisting themselves into knots which were anything but becoming.
"Calvin," he said, "when I look at that young woman—at least not exactly young, but a sight younger than some, and all the better for it—what word do you think I use to myself?"
"I don't know!" said Calvin shortly.
Mr. Sam leaned back, and expanded his red flannel waistcoat.
"Take time, Cal!" he said kindly. "Find a good solid-soundin' word suitable to the occasion, and spit it out!"
"Look at here!" said Calvin, still more shortly. "I come out here to see your hogs, and I've seen 'em. I didn't come out to play guessin' games; if you've got anything to say to me, say it! If not, I'm goin' home."
Mr. Sam leaned forward, and poked Calvin in the ribs with a skinny forefinger.
"Matrimony's the word, Cal!" he said. "Holy matrimony! Ain't that a good word? ain't it suitable? ain't it what you might call providential? ain't it? hey?" He paused for a reply; but none coming, he went on.