"By George!" says Plummer. "I believe the man's right. But see here: what were you doing prowling around my back yard to-night! Why didn't you go to the servants' entrance and ask the cook for Selma, if you're as much in love with her as you've written that you are?"
"What do you know about it?" demands Petersen.
"Good Lord!" gasps Plummer. "Haven't I had to puzzle out all those wretched scrawls of yours and read 'em to her? Such mushy letters, too! Come, if you're the man, why didn't you call Selma out and tell her all that to her face?"
Nothing but heavy breathing from inside the shack.
"You don't mean to say you were too bashful!" goes on Plummer. "A great big fellow like you!"
If it hadn't been for the whiskers I believe we could have seen him blush.
"Look here," says Plummer. "You may be what you say you are, and then again you may not. Perhaps you just guessed at the girl's name. We can't afford to take any chances. The only way to settle it is to send for Selma."
"No, no!" pleads the big gink. "Please! Not like this."
"Yes, just like that," insists Plummer. "Only, if you'd rather, you can carry your house back where it belongs and sit down. John, run home and bring Selma here."
Well, we had our man nicely tamed now. With Selma liable to show up, he was ready to do as he was told. Just why, we couldn't make out. Anyway, he hobbles back to the crossin' and eases the shack down where he found it. Also, he slumps inside on the bench and waits, durin' which proceedin' the last trolley goes boomin' past.