“Sol,––you’re done;––you’re done brown,” Jim went on relentlessly, “and it serves you darned well right.”
“But, Jim,––you been a lawyer. She can’t go make me marry her?”
“Yes she can!”
“But she lie to me. She send me picture of nice girl and say it her and she Betty Jornsen. I tell her to come to me, from her picture,––see!”
“You big, blue-eyed, innocent baby! You’re done;––you’re in the soup;––your goose is cooked. Take it from me,––she’s got you, and got you good.
“Didn’t you send her my photo and say it was yours?”
Sol stood aghast.
“Aw,––that just a joke!” he persisted.
“Hadn’t she a perfect right to do the same thing to you? Well––evidently she has done it. Poor Sol!”