"Think of that, gentlemen," cuts in old Busbee sarcastic. "He is to be married!"
But it needs more 'n a little jab like that to bring Mr. Robert out of his Romeo trance. Honest, the way he carries on is amazin'. You might have thought this was the first case on record where a girl who'd said she wouldn't had changed her mind. And, so far as any other happenin's was concerned, he might have been deaf, dumb, and blind. The entire news of the world that mornin' he could boil down into one official statement: Elsa had said she'd have him! Hip, hip! Banzai! Elsa forever! He flashed that miniature of her and passed it around. He nudges Lawson T. Ryder playful in the short ribs, hammers Deacon Larkin on the back, and then groups himself, beamin' foolish, with one arm around old Busbee and the other around Mr. Hyde.
Maybe you know how catchin' that sort of thing is? It's got the measles or barber's itch beat seven ways. That bunch of grouches just couldn't resist. Inside of five minutes they was grinnin' with him, and when I finally shoos 'em out they was formin' a committee to shake each other down for two hundred per towards a weddin' present.
I finds it about as much use tryin' to get Mr. Robert to settle down to business as it would be teachin' a hummin'-bird to sit for his photograph. So I gives up, and asks for details of the big event.
"When does it come off?" says I.
"Oh, right away," says he. "I don't know just when; but soon—very soon."
"Home or church?" says I.
"Oh, either," says he. "It doesn't matter in the least."
"Maybe it don't," says I, "but it's a point someone has to settle, you know."
"Yes, yes," says he, wavin' careless. "I've no doubt someone will."