“Yes; but if I get at a thing I’m sure to be interrupted, and then my mother doesn’t like to see me carpentering.”
“You ought to have a house of your own,” said Berty, decidedly. “It is the duty of every man to marry and bring up a family and to keep it together. That helps the Union, but if you have no family you can’t keep it together, and you are an unworthy son of this great republic.”
“That’s a fact,” replied the Mayor. “I guess we’ll have a little talk about it. I’ll just sit down here on this bench a minute to rest. I’m quite blown.”
Berty made no response, or, if she did, it was in such a low tone that the occupants of the veranda could not hear, and presently the Mayor went on.
“Yes, I’ve often thought of getting married. A man ought to, before he gets too old. How old would you take me to be?”
“About fifty,” came promptly, in Berty’s clear voice.
Her companion was evidently annoyed, for it was some time before he spoke, and then he said, briefly, “Fifty!”
“Well,” said Berty, kindly, “I said about fifty. I dare say you’re not much more than forty.”
“I suppose forty seems like dead old age to you?” queried the Mayor, curiously.
“Oh, yes—it seems far off like the other side of the river,” replied the girl.