"Well, I expect you're a judge," says I.
"I've never known anyone just like her," he goes on, "and if she'll have me——" He wags his head determined.
I was hardly lookin' for such a stubborn streak in Vincent. He's always seemed so mild and modest. But you never can tell. There's no doubt about his having his mind all made up about Mirabelle, and while her name ain't mentioned once he consents to tell me what a perfectly sweet and lovely person she is. If I hadn't had a hunch who he was talking about I'm afraid I never would have guessed from the description. She'd put the spell on him for fair. That being the way things stood what was the use of my coming in with an argument? The most I could do was to hint that Vincent's salary as head office boy might be a bit strained when it came to providin' for two.
He has the answer to that, though. He's got the promise of a filing clerk's job the first of the year, with a raise every six months if he makes good.
"Besides," he adds, "I may pick up a little something extra very soon."
"Eh?" says I. "You ain't been plungin' on a curb tip, have you?"
He nods. "It came to me very straight, sir," says he. "Oil stocks."
"Good-night!" I groans. "Say, Vincent, you're off in high gear, all right. Matrimony and gushers, all at one clip! Lemme get my breath. Have you put up for the margins?"
"Oh, yes," says Vincent.
"Then have another piece of pie and a second cup of coffee," says I. "You're going to need bracin' up."