"No," Tracey admitted honestly, "not much. But I was wonderin'—"
"Well?"
"Are you stuck on Angie, Mr. Duncan?" demanded Tracey desperately.
"Great snakes! I hope not!" Duncan cast an anxious glance about him, and discovered the poster depicting the gentleman in strange attire vainly endeavouring to free his overcoat (I believe it's his overcoat) from the bench upon which a pot of glue has been spilled. He lifted a reverent hand to the card. "Tracey," he said solemnly, "I swear to you that not even that indispensable article of commerce could stick me on Angie."
The boy sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Duncan. I was only worryin' because you and Angie is singin' together in the choir, now Josie Lockwood's gone to school, an'—an' Angie's the purtiest girl in town—and I was 'fraid 't you might like her best, when Josie's away. An' I wanted to ask you to pick out s'mother girl."
Duncan chuckled silently. "Tracey," he said presently, "it strikes me you must be in love with Angie."
The boy gulped. "I—I am."
"And I think she's rather partial to you."
"Do you, really, Mr. Duncan?"
"I do. Do you want to marry her?"