“You are superstitious,” replied Dredmond, with a little scornful curl of his handsome lips.
“If it should result in your carrying Miss Brownie Douglas off to the old country with you, there would be a buzzing about your ears, I can tell you; for not a few have their eye fixed already upon the dainty elf with her golden pile in prospect.”
“Are you among the number, Gordon?” asked his friend, with a keen glance at the young man.
“Not I, my boy; my star shines from another quarter,” Gordon replied, laughingly, though growing red in the face with the acknowledgment.
“I think then, my friend, you are getting up a little romance upon your own account, and without much of a foundation to begin with. If you were interested I should not wonder, but as there is no jealousy in the matter it seems a little singular that you should jump at conclusions thus. I fear, Gordon, I shall have to set you down as a masculine match-maker.”
“Call me what you like, but I confess that I think you and that little fairy would suit each other wonderfully well. She is just the right kind of a little woman to make a——”
“Hush, my boy; do not reveal my secrets here,” interrupted Adrian Dredmond, looking anxiously around.
“Well, well, come on then to Machinery Hall; but, Dredmond, I think you are over modest about some matters.”
“It is a failing which will never harm anybody,” the young man replied, smiling; then linking arms in a friendly way with his companion, they wended their way to view that wonder of modern achievements, the Corliss engine, and those countless other inventions of the human brain.