“Suppose I should win,” said Rube, “what then?”
“You will be the hero of the day, and—” Mell halted very prettily, but finally brought it out in sweet confusion, “and maybe I would wear a crown.”
“By my troth, you shall! But what of me? I take no stock in crowns like that. If I should win, Mell, may I name my own reward?”
“You may.”
“It will be a big one.”
“The man who runs and wins generally gets a big one.”
“But understand my meaning, Mell, understand it perfectly. I do not want the shadow of a doubt to rest upon this matter. Who shall decide when lovers disagree?”
He had been toying with a twig broken from a flowering bay; it was stripped of foliage, save a few green leaves at the end, and with this he lightly touched the dimpled hand reposing upon her lap.
“That is what I would ask. Will you give it to me, Mell, if I win the race?”
Mell trembled violently, but she said “yes.”