"I'm bursting with a great secret, old man. I'm going to be married."
"What!"
"I'm going to be married."
I grasped a chair to support myself. This was almost too much. Could it be possible that Hezekiah had miscalculated the list of rejections in the silver-bound book, or that Cecilia herself had been deceived? Pepperton misread my agitation, and with a hearty laugh clapped me on the shoulder.
"Oh, I'm not intruding on your preserves, old man! Cecilia is the second finest girl in the world, that's all. I'm engaged to Miss Gaylord, of Stockbridge. I 'm telling a few old friends, in advance of the formal announcement to be made next week at a dance the Gaylords are giving."
I crushed his hand in both my own, and seeing that he misconstrued the fervor of my emotion I hastened to set myself right.
"You're a lucky dog as usual, Pep. But you don't understand about Cecilia Hollister. It's not I; I 'm not in the running at all; but Hartley Wiggins is! I'm here trying to help him score."
"What's this? You're here to represent Wiggy?"
"Well, he did n't exactly send me here, but when I came I found that Wiggy was n't playing the game with quite the necessary zipology. There's more required than appears,—a little of the dash and snap of the old adventures,—the ready tongue, the eager, thirsty sword!"
Pepperton pursed his lips and looked me over carefully with a twinkle in his eye.