"Indeed they do—they won't even look at a fly."
"I am not alluding to birds, Mr. Ramsay. May I ask what your intentions are with regard to my niece?"
"Eh?" Mr. Ramsay glanced at the other sideways. "I say, would you mind very much if I were to—to pay my addresses to Miss Violet?"
"Certainly not, my dear Mr. Ramsay. The human affection always meets with my warmest approbation—the—in fact, my very warmest approbation. Let me shake you by the hand."
"I wouldn't, if I were you—fact is—worms, you know. I hope you're not sitting on any of them?"
Mr. Burrows' approbation of the human affections was suddenly mitigated; he jumped up with a sudden but strictly philosophical remark—but seeing that this matter of the worms was a false alarm, he breathed more freely, and, grunting again, sat down.
"No, that's all right!" the Tenderfoot felt very much relieved. "You haven't spoilt one of them. I ought to tell you, though,—you were so busy I didn't like to mention it before,—that we're engaged."
"Since when, my dear young friend?"
"Oh, months ago—it must be supper time. Why don't they bite? I love her desperately."
"Your sentiments do you justice. The alliance between our families will do much, my young friend, to strengthen the material bonds which are about to so closely unite my interests to those of your respected father. The brilliant future in store for the Burrows-Ramsay Mining & Milling Syndicate Limited"—