“Miss––Miss Jornsen,––there’s a mistake somewhere. My name is Jim Langford, and that is my photograph; but I never sent it to you. We happen to know Sol Hanson though. He lives here all right. This gentleman works with him.
“Sol is a Swede?”
“Yes,––yes!” put in Betty, “same as I am.”
“I’m thinking he was afraid he wasn’t good-looking enough and he was scared to take chances, so he sent you my photo instead of one of his own,” he went on, without even a blush of conceit.
“And––and he ain’t such a good-looker as you?” she queried.
“Well,––well, of course, tastes differ. You might like him fine,” he grinned, with becoming modesty.
“But he’s got a house, and fruit trees, and a blacksmith shop, and he can work?” she asked.
“You bet! He’s well fixed. Come along and we’ll see him now. He will never be able to resist you.”
Betty perked up at the compliment.