Jim stepped out from the shadow.
“Miss Jornsen,––allow me to introduce you to Mr. Sol Hanson!”
Betty looked at Jim querulously, and then at Sol who was standing nervously by, gazing at her.
Slowly and shyly she sidled up to the big blacksmith. She put her hands on the lapels of his ill-fitting coat and slid her fingers down them tenderly; then she laid her head on his chest, while his big arms went about her again.
“Come on, Phil!” said Jim, “this is no place for the proverbial parson’s son.”
Sol’s eyes took on a new light.
“Jim,––by gosh!––maybe it been no place for a parson’s son,” he grinned, “but it a dam-fine place for a parson. What you think, eh, Betty?”
“You fellows wait. We all go together, get it over right now. What you think, my little Betty?”
“Sure! There ain’t no good in waitin’,” answered Betty. “And say, Mister––Mister Langford!––I ain’t tryin’ to be insultin’, nor anything like that, but if you think you’re a better looker than my big Sol, then you’ve got another think comin’.”