Well, this fellow rambled.
"She's an angel. She isn't like other girls. She's got the loveliest complexion. The handsomest face, the finest figure, the sweetest nature that ever woman had."
"Good," says I, "but how about her feet?"
"Feet, man," says he, "what are you talking about? Are you demented?"
"No," says I, "but you ought to have looked at her feet."
"What has her feet got to do with it?" says he, "I'm marrying the girl, not her feet."
"That's right," says I, "but you'll get her feet thrown into the bargain. Never marry a club-footed girl, because she's always got something to hit you with in case of an argument."
Even that didn't shut him up.