"I should always do my best to take care of your niece, Captain Schuyler," said I; "but how do you know she doesn't care two straws for me?"
"Why she says she doesn't, and any one can see it with half an eye. I reelly believe," said the Skipper, pointing his remark with a very horny forefinger, "that she would like the Bo's'n, or even the Minion, better."
"And yet you insult us both by asking us to marry each other."
"No, I ain't. I'm asking her to marry you. Lord, Jones, I ain't thinking of you. Now, you see, it's this way, Jones. You're more in her station of life. To be sure, you haven't the proud lineage of William Brown—his mother's great aunt is a Schuyler—but you're nearer to it than the Bo's'n, besides which your position aboard the Yankee Blade was enough. And then, you know, it isn't a reel marriage. You can give each other up at any time. She expects firmly to marry William when she gets home. He'll be waitin' for her on the dock. I presume she's told you?"
"Yes, she has told me," said I.
"You see, if you were married to Cynthy, and anything should happen, and she needed a protector—— Oh, darn it all, Jones, can't you see what I mean?"
"What did you mean by saying that she has consented?"
"Why, she has, she reelly has. I put it to her in such a way that she says she sees my point, and she will go through the form of marriage——"
"A hollow mockery!" I broke in. "I won't consent."
"What, after all the trouble I've taken? You must, Jones. You can't refuse a la——"