It was a strange wooing. Five o’clock in the morning is not a usual hour for inspiration, yet I was never more eloquent. Nor were the chief elements of the little drama picturesque—a woebegone and very much mussed-up young lady with unkempt hair, her figure lost in the folds of a dirty blanket, and a man with the appearance of having been hurriedly starched and rough-dried. But there was a new pink in the cheeks of the one and a new light in the eyes of the other, as Edith, without a word in answer to my pleading, simply placed her soft hand in mine for a moment, then brushing away her tears, ran below.
To the casual observer on the streets of New Haven no doubt we looked somewhat time-worn, but this was partly mended by the milliner and the tailor. I was still as idiotic as a man is likely to be after a heavy stroke of good fortune, and it was when sitting in the hotel where I had just penned the last of a number of telegrams that I turned to the girl for my final triumph.
“Edith, it was only yesterday morning that you scoffed at the force of circumstance and I hinted at a tale I could write that would convince you. But I need not use invention—we have acted a story ourselves. You have been forced to capitulate. Was I not right?”
“No, dear,” she returned softly. “My answer would have been the same had you asked me long ago.”
Before and After
WANDERING WILLIE—Why wudn’t yer wanter be a millionaire, pard?
Weary Raggles—What’s de diff’rence? Dose fellers git de dyspepsie an’ hev de distressed feelin’ arter eatin’, ’stead of afore, dat’s all.
Declined