“Well, I’ll lend Agnes’s husband one hundred and eighteen thousand dollars at three per cent, and leave her the note when I die. From what I know of marriage, I venture to assert that if she squeezes him for payment it will be his own fault.”
I sat speechless for a moment, too bewildered by the unexpected turn to even think.
“I was as surprised as you look,” he went on, “for although I had seen that you and Agnes”—
“Indeed, Mr. Blodgett,” I exclaimed hastily, “I am no more to Miss Agnes than a dozen of her friends! I”—
“So the boss says,” he interrupted. “But that doesn’t mean that you can’t be. Though to speak the truth, my boy,” he continued, resting his hand on my knee, “this wasn’t my plan. I had hoped that you and Maizie would take a shine to each other, and so kiss the chalk-marks off that old score. But when I spoke of the scheme to the boss, this evening, she told me there had never been a chance of it; that you didn’t like Mai, and that she is practically engaged to Whitely, and is only—Better have some more whiskey, or that cough will shake you to pieces.”
I could only shake my head in my misery, but after a moment I was able to say, “Mr. Blodgett, I did not understand—I”—
“I want to tell you,” he broke in, “before you say anything more, that I never believe in putting one’s fingers into love affairs, and I shouldn’t in this case if the boss didn’t feel so keen about it, but I don’t choose to be the one to stand in her way. And now I’m not offering my daughter’s hand. You know as well as I that Agnes isn’t the kind of girl who needs a prospectus or a gold clause to work her off. If she dropped her handkerchief to-morrow, fifty men would be scrambling for it, eh?”
“Yes.” Then I added, “And, Mr. Blodgett, I can’t find the words to tell how I thank you both for such a compliment. If”—
“I knew you wouldn’t misunderstand me,” he went on. “It’s a good deal of a start in life to be born a gentleman.”
“But, Mr. Blodgett,” I said, “there has been a mistake. I—it is hard to say, but”—then I faltered.