He gulped wretchedly. "I—I can't marry her, Jim. I just can't. That's all there is to it."
"Why?" I was sore now. "For Satan's sake, why? Something like this deserves an explanation."
"On account," he said, "on account of it wouldn't work."
"It wouldn't—" I stared at him. "Come clean!"
He said, "I figgered it all out, an' it won't work. Say I married her, Awright. Purty soon, stands to reason, we'd have a youngster. A boy, I figger. Some more years'd pass, he'd grow up. Fust thing you know, he'd be a man hisself, an' he'd up an' fall in love with a girl.
"An' it just natcherally stands to reason that him bein' the kind of boy he'd be, an' me bein' the kind of man I am, we'd be sure to have a big ruckus, because—"
I stared at him. "Because?"
"'Cause the kind of girl he'd fall for," said Hank, "would be some durn chorus girl. An'"—Hank's voice was heavy with parental firmness—"they ain't no son of mine is gonna marry no chorus girl!"
I felt like yesterday's lettuce. I said faintly,