We sets there and glares at each other for a spell. I rolls a smoke, and he follers suit.
“No bowels of compassion?” he asks, sad-like.
“Not a gut.”
“Ike,” says he, after a while, “will you do me a favor? Just for old times’ sake, Ike?”
“Shoot,” says I.
“Well, Ike, I—I—I sort of got—well, she’s beginning to see things my way, and all I asks is ten minutes alone with her. You stay away for ten minutes after I goes inside, and then you can come in and congratulate the happy couple. Will yuh do it, Ike?”
“That’s a mighty big favor, Magpie,” I observes after sufficient thought. “You and me been more or less friendly for years and years, Magpie, and—well, I’ll do it. I’ll give yuh ten minutes start of me. Cut your wolf loose and go a-howling.”
“Ike,” says he, with tears in his voice, “you’ll never regret it. As soon as we’re married I’ll have you up to supper.”
“If you can propose in ten minutes, Magpie, I’ll cook for you all the rest of your life for nothing. Propose in ten minutes! Why, you can’t spit inside of fifteen. Go ahead and have it over with.”
We pilgrims on until we tops a hill above her cabin. I stops there and lets Magpie go on down. I’m to stick there until I figures that I can make the cabin ten minutes after he goes inside.