Hough drank deep and sighed with satisfaction. "Jove! that tastes good! I limbered up my joints with a two-mile walk before I went to the club this evening, and I've been as dry as a harvest-hand ever since. All the wine in France or elsewhere won't touch the spot like a little good old brew when a man is really healthy." He recalled himself. "Your pardon, Sidwell. Seriously, I do think it's the duty of our best friends to bring us back to earth now and then when we've strayed too far away. No one who doesn't care for us will take the trouble."
"Our very best friends, I judge," suggested Sidwell.
"Certainly." The big man wondered what was coming next.
"A—wife, for instance."
Hough straightened in his chair. His jolly face grew serious.
"Are you in earnest, Chad," he queried, "or are you just drawing me out?"
"I never was more in earnest in my life."
Hough lost sight of the original question in the revelation it suggested.
"Do you mean you're really going to get married at last?"
Sidwell forced a smile. "If the matter were already settled, it would be too late to consider the advisability of the move, wouldn't it?" he returned. "It would be an established fact, and as such useless to discuss. I haven't asked the lady, if that answers your question."