“What’s the matter?” he asked, straightening up.
This caused Phil to laugh the more.
“Why, Sol!––you’re all dolled up something awful,” he remarked.
“Well!––that’s all right,––ain’t it?”
“Sure thing,––go to it! Mr. Pederstone won’t know you when you go up to congratulate him on his victory.”
“Ya!––Mr. Pederstone win. I pretty dam-glad. But that ain’t any reason why a fellow put on his fine clothes.”
“What is it then, Sol? You might tell a fellow. You haven’t come into a fortune?”
“No such dam-luck as that! But this my birthday, Phil. I been thirty-three years old to-day.”
“Well now!––and I never knew.” Phil reached and shook the big Swede’s big hand heartily. “Leave it there,––many happy returns, old man!”
Sol’s good nature bubbled over, but his face took on a clouded expression shortly after. “‘Old man’!” he repeated. “Ya!––you right, Phil, thirty-three, I soon, be old man and I not been got married yet. If I wait two-three year more, nobody have me.”