Yates stood for a moment regarding the dejected attitude of his friend.
“Hello, old man!” he cried, “you have the most ‘hark-from-the-tombs’ appearance I ever saw. What’s the matter?”
Renmark looked up.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?”
“Of course it’s I. Been expecting anybody else?”
“No. I have been waiting for you, and thinking of a variety of things.”
“You look it. Well, Renny, congratulate me, my boy. She’s mine, and I’m hers—which are two ways of stating the same delightful fact. I’m up in a balloon, Renny. I’m engaged to the prettiest, sweetest, and most delightful girl there is from the Atlantic to the Pacific. What d’ye think of that? Say, Renmark, there’s nothing on earth like it. You ought to reform and go in for being in love. It would make a man of you. Champagne isn’t to be compared to it. Get up here and dance, and don’t sit there like a bear nursing a sore paw. Do you comprehend that I am to be married to the darlingest girl that lives?”
“God help her!”
“That’s what I say. Every day of her life, bless her! But I don’t say it quite in that tone, Renmark. What’s the matter with you? One would think you were in love with the girl yourself, if such a thing were possible.”
“Why is it not possible?”