“If I were in Lafayette's class,” sighed David, “I wouldn't be selling automatic punches.”
“There's your trouble,” declared Emily “You lack self-confidence. You're too humble, you've got fighting blood and you ought to keep saying to yourself, 'Blood will tell,' and the first thing you know, it WILL tell! You might begin by going into politics in your ward. Or, you could join the militia. That takes only one night a week, and then, if we DID go to war with Spain, you'd get a commission, and come back a captain!”
Emily's eyes were beautiful with delight. But the sight gave David no pleasure. In genuine distress, he shook his head.
“Emily,” he said, “you're going to be awfully disappointed in me.”
Emily's eyes closed as though they shied at some mental picture. But when she opened them they were bright, and her smile was kind and eager.
“No, I'm not,” she protested; “only I want a husband with a career, and one who'll tell me to keep quiet when I try to run it for him.”
“I've often wished you would,” said David.
“Would what? Run your career for you?”
“No, keep quiet. Only it didn't seem polite to tell you so.”
“Maybe I'd like you better,” said Emily, “if you weren't so darned polite.”