"Good idea!" says he, and we lights out hot foot for the Little Church Around the Corner.
And say! Talk about your long shots! As we piles out what should I see but the carrotty topped night hawk that'd had Rossy and me for fares earlier in the evenin'.
"You're a winner," says I to the old man. "It's a case of waitin' at the church. Ten to one you'll find Rossiter inside."
It was a cinch. Rossy was the first one we saw as we got into the anteroom.
It wa'n't what you'd call a real affectionate meetin'. The old man steps up and eyes him for a minute, like a dyspeptic lookin' at a piece of overdone steak in a restaurant, and then he remarks: "What blasted nonsense is this, sir?"
"Why," says Rossy, shiftin' from one foot to the other, and grinnin' foolisher'n I ever saw him grin before—"why, I just thought I'd get married, that's all."
"That's all, eh?" says the old man, and you could have filed a saw with his voice. "Sort of a happy inspiration of the moment, was it?"
"Well," says Rossy, "not—not exactly that. I'd been thinking of it for some time, sir."
"The deuce you say!" says the old man.
"I—I didn't think you'd object," says Rossy.