“I had ’beaus’ enough, I reckon, when I was eighteen. Makes me laff when I think o’ Rube. He’s always been like what he is now. Jest quiet an’ slow. I came nigh marryin’ a feller who’s got a swell horse ranch way up in Canada, through Rube bein’ slow. Guess Rube was the man for me, though, all through. But, you see, I couldn’t ask him to marry me. Mussy on us, he was slow!”
“Did you have to help him out, Ma?” 121
“Help him? Did you ever know a gal who didn’t help her ’beau’ out? Boy, when a gal gets fixed on a man he’s got a job if he’s goin’ to get clear. Unless he’s like my Rube—ter’ble slow.”
“That’s how you’re sizin’ me now,” said Seth, with a short laugh.
Ma Sampson worked on assiduously.
“Maybe you’re slow in some things, Seth,” she ventured, after a moment’s thought.
“See here, Ma, I’ve always reckoned we’d get yarnin’ like this some day. It ’ud please you an’ Rube for me to marry Rosebud. Wal, you an’ me’s mostly given to talkin’ plain. An’ I tell you right here that Rosebud ain’t for the likes o’ me. Don’t you think I’m makin’ out myself a poor sort o’ cuss. ’Tain’t that. You know, an’ I know, Rosebud belongs to mighty good folk. Wal, before ther’s any thought of me an’ Rosebud, we’re goin’ to locate those friends. It’s only honest, Ma, and as such I know you’ll understand. Guess we don’t need to say any more.”
Mrs. Sampson had ceased working, and sat peering at her boy through her large spectacles. Seth’s look was very determined, and she understood him well.
She shook her head.
“Guess you’re reckoning out your side.” She laughed slyly and went on darning. “Maybe Rosebud won’t thank you a heap when you find those 122 friends. They haven’t made much fuss to find her.”