"Why," says he, "I'm not sure, but I had an idea I could——"
"Maybe you can," says I; "but from the samples I've seen I should have my doubts. You know this 'Yours of the steenth just received' and so on may do for vice-presidents and gen'ral managers; but it's raw style to spring on your best girl. Take it from me, sizzlin' sentiments that's strained through a typewriter are apt to get delivered cold."
"But I'm not good at making fine speeches, either," he protests.
"You ain't exactly tongue-tied, though," says I. "And you ain't startin' out on this expedition with both arms roped behind you, are you?"
For a minute he stares at me gaspy, while that simmers through the oatmeal.
Then he chuckles. "Torchy," says he, givin' me the inside-brother grip, "there's no telling how this will turn out, but I—I'm going up!"
I stayed long enough to see him start, too.
Then I goes home, not sure whether I'd set the scene for an ear cuffin', or had plugged him in on a through wire.