"And what a nose! And a moustache!" was on Mr. Ely's lips, but he refrained.
"That girl just twenty-four, and she weigh a hundred and seventy pound--she do credit to any man. And, my goodness, how she is fond of you, my boy!"
A vision passed before Mr. Ely's mental eye of the girl whom he had left behind. And then he thought of the young lady whose chief qualification was that she weighed a hundred and seventy pounds at twenty-four.
"She not a worrying girl, that Judith; that's the sort of wife for a man to have who wants to live an easy life. She let him do just what he please, and never say a word."
Mr. Ely fidgeted in his seat. "I say, Rosenbaum, I wish you'd try some other theme."
Mr. Rosenbaum held up his fat forefinger, with its half a dozen rings, and wagged it in Mr. Ely's face. "But the great point is Sarah, my good friend; there is something between you and she."
"What the dickens do you mean?"
"Oh! you know what I mean. What passed between you on the river that fine day?"
"What fine day?"
"What fine day! So there has been more than one! That I did not know; the one it was enough for me."