"Marian Philipson Peters--Mrs. Philipson Peters, is my sister."
It seemed to be a tolerably prosaic paraphrase of "Angel." Hubert, if the expression of his features could be trusted, appeared to think so.
"And what possible advantage does your sister propose to derive from my promising, either in black and white or in any other way, to marry her? Does the lady propose to pay my debts, or to provide me with an income?"
"Attend to me, my friend--write what I dictate." The big man laid his hand on Hubert's shoulder with an amount of pressure which might mean much--or more! Hubert looked up. The pressure increased. "Write it."
The little man was standing on the other side of the unwilling scribe. He had his revolver in one hand, his knife in the other. "Write it!" he said.
Up went Hubert's shoulders--he wrote it. The big man continued his dictation.
"'Within three months after date.'"
"What on earth----"
"Write--'Within three months after date.'"
"Oh, I'll write anything. I'll promise to marry her within three minutes--to oblige you."