Jim laughed, raised his leg and clasped his hands over his knee. "Uncle Gideon, I reckon I'm the happiest man in Cranceford County."
The old man sat leaning back against the wall. His coat was off and under his suspenders he had hooked his thumbs. "Go on, Jimmie; I'm listening."
"She has written another letter—Did Tom tell you anything?" he broke off.
"Did Tom ever tell me anything? Did Tom ever tell anybody anything? Did he ever know anything to tell?"
"She has written another letter and in it she confesses—I don't know how to say it, Uncle Gideon."
"Well, tell me and I'll say it for you. Confesses that she can be happy with no one but you. Go on."
"Who told you? Did Mrs. Cranceford?"
"My dear boy, did Mrs. Cranceford ever tell me anything except to keep off the grass? Nobody has told me anything. Confesses that you are the only man that can make her happy. Now shoot your dye-stuff."
"But that's all there is. She says that her heart will never have a home until my love builds a mansion for it."
"Jimmie, if the highest market price for a fool was one hundred dollars, you'd fetch two hundred."