“Well, now, Toc,” said Adams, eyeing the lad with a twinkling expression, “d’ye know, I have heard it said or writ somewhere, that brevity is the soul of wit. If that sayin’s true, an’ I’ve no reason for to suppose that it isn’t, I should say that that observation of yours was wit without either soul or body, it’s so uncommon short; too witty, in short. Couldn’t you manage to add something more to it?”
“Yes, father,” said Thursday, with a deprecating smile, “I have come to ask—to ask you for leave to—to—to—”
“Well, Toc, you have my cheerful leave to—to—to, and tootle too, as much as you please,” replied Adams, with a bland smile.
“In short,” said Thursday, with a desperate air, “I—I—want leave to marry.”
“Whew!” whistled Adams, with a larger display of eyeball than he had made since he settled on the island. “You’ve come to the point now, and no mistake. You—want—leave—to—marry, Thursday October Christian, eh?”
“Yes, father, if you’ve no objection.”
“Hem! no objection, marry—eh?” said Adams, while his eyebrows began to return slowly to their wonted position. “Ha! well, now, let’s hear; who do you want to marry?”
Having fairly broken the ice, the bashful youth said quickly, “Susannah.”
Again John Adams uttered a prolonged whistle, while his eyebrows sprang once more to the roots of his hair.
“What! the widdy?”