They laughed, and Vibbard blurted out, with a queer, boyish grimace:
“It’s me. She don’t like me. Hey, Thorny?”
“It’s nearer the truth,” returned his friend, “to say that you’re so bashful you don’t give her half a chance to make known what she does think of you.”
“Oh, time enough—time enough,” said Vibbard, good-humoredly.
Remembering that I must hurry back to catch my train, I suddenly found that I had been in an abstracted mood, for I was still standing with my hat off.
“Well, let me know how you get on,” I said, jocosely, as I parted from the comrades.
Yet for the life of me I could not tell which one of them it was that I should expect to hear from as a suitor for the girl’s hand.
It was within a fortnight after this that they came to my office—for I had been admitted to the bar—and announced that the time for drawing up their long-pending agreement had arrived. They were still as eager as ever about it, and I very soon had the instrument made out, stating the mutual consideration, and duly signed and sealed.
Finding that they had been at Stansby again, I was prompted to ask them more about Ida.
“Do you know,” I said, boldly, “that I am very much puzzled as to which of you was the more interested in her?”