"Here, now—"
"Nearly all the wealthy codgers in such towns are deacons, you see, and though they may not speak to you for months on the street, it's their business to waylay you after the service is over and shake hands with you and tell you they hope you enjoyed the sermon and ask you to come again. And you can bank on it, they'll all take notice from the first."
"It's no wonder Bartlett made you a partner, Harry."
"Now behave. I want you to get in right. ... If you follow the rules I've outlined, not only will all the girls in town be falling over themselves to get to you first, but their fond parents will be egging them on. Then all you've got to do is to pick out the one with the biggest bundle and—"
"Make a play for her?"
"Not on your life. That would be fatal. Your part is to put yourself in her way. She'll do all the courting, and when she scents the psychological moment she'll do the proposing."
"It doesn't sound natural, but you certainly seem to know what you're drooling about."
"You can anchor to that, Nat."
"And are you finished?"
"I am. Of course I'll probably think of more things to wise you to, before you go."