“Oh, go on, you old pessimist. You’re a young fellow yet. There’s lot of time.”
“Maybe––maybe not! Yesterday I think all pretty girl here soon be snapped up. Gretchen Gilder, she get married to that slob Peters last year, and Peters he no dam-good. I never ask Gretchen, or maybe I have her now. I think she been too good. Peters he ask her and get her right off. All them Johnson girls get married; five fine big girl too! Now little Betty McCawl––you know little Irish girl––God bless me!––I just been crazy for her. She go get married day before yesterday to that other Swede, Jan Nansen.”
Phil laughed at Sol’s rueful countenance, as the latter recounted his matrimonial misses.
“Why!––you’re too slow.”
“You bet!––too dam-slow to catch myself getting out of bed. I scared to tell little Betty. Think maybe she not like to marry big Swede. Jan Nansen catch her first time. Jan Nansen,––land sakes!––I got more money, more sense, more hair on top my head, more clothes;––I could put Jan in my jean’s pocket. Now little Betty, she Mrs. Jan Nansen. Good night and God bless me!”
Sol spat among the hoof parings on the floor in his annoyance.
“Yes, too bad, Sol!” Phil put in.
“Yesterday I say too bad too! I got fine house. Build him all myself too. I got three room, with chairs, tables, fine stove, everything. But I got nobody to keep it nice. Then that dam-fool of a fine little fellow Smiler, he going all plumb toboggan to hell because nobody look after him all day long. Soon no more pretty girl be left, I say to myself:––‘Sol Hanson, to-morrow your birthday. You get all dressed up and first girl you meet you ask her if she marry Sol Hanson.’ See! Maybe she not take me. All right! I keep on ask next one, then another one, till some girl take me. First one take me, she get me,––see!”
Phil raised his eyebrows in amusement, wondering what next he was about to hear.