Huntington regarded him for a moment with a puzzled expression on his face; then he relaxed, convulsed with laughter. Cosden was distinctly nettled.
"This doesn't strike me as the friendliest way in the world to respond to a fellow's request for advice on so serious a subject."
"You don't want to consult me," Huntington insisted, checking himself; "what you need is a specialist. When did you first feel the attack coming on? Oh, Lord! Connie! That's the funniest line you ever pulled off!"
"Look here," Cosden said, with evident irritation; "I'm serious. With any one else I should have approached the subject less abruptly, but I don't see why I should pick and choose my words with you.
"And the trip"—Huntington interrupted, again convulsed—"'for two or three weeks, or longer'? Is that to be your wedding-trip, and am I to go along as guardian?"
The older man's amusement became contagious, and Cosden's annoyance melted before his friend's keen enjoyment of the situation.
"Oh, well, have your laugh out," he said good-naturedly. "When it's all over perhaps you'll discuss matters seriously. Can you advance any sane reason why I should not marry if I see fit?"
"None whatever, my dear boy, provided you've found a girl who possesses both imagination and a sense of humor."
"I have reached a point in my life where I can indulge myself in marriage as in any other luxury," Cosden pursued, unruffled by Huntington's comments. "I've slaved for fifteen years for one definite purpose—to make money enough to become a power; and now I've got it. Up to this time a wife would have been a handicap; now she can be an asset. After all is said and done, Monty, a home is the proper thing for a man to have. It's all right living as you and I do while one's mind is occupied with other things, but it is an inconsistency, as you say. Now—well, what have you to put up against my line of argument?"
"Am I to understand that all this, reduced to its last analysis, is intended to convey the information that you have fallen in love?"