“You had better brace up and try, mamma; for as Mr. Fulkerson says, it's as sure as guns. From the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he's loathsome to me; and he keeps getting loathsomer. Ugh! Goodnight!”
XVI.
“Well, I guess she's given him the grand bounce at last,” said Fulkerson to March in one of their moments of confidence at the office. “That's Mad's inference from appearances—and disappearances; and some little hints from Alma Leighton.”
“Well, I don't know that I have any criticisms to offer,” said March. “It may be bad for Beaton, but it's a very good thing for Miss Leighton. Upon the whole, I believe I congratulate her.”
“Well, I don't know. I always kind of hoped it would turn out the other way. You know I always had a sneaking fondness for the fellow.”
“Miss Leighton seems not to have had.”
“It's a pity she hadn't. I tell you, March, it ain't so easy for a girl to get married, here in the East, that she can afford to despise any chance.”
“Isn't that rather a low view of it?”
“It's a common-sense view. Beaton has the making of a first-rate fellow in him. He's the raw material of a great artist and a good citizen. All he wants is somebody to take him in hand and keep him from makin' an ass of himself and kickin' over the traces generally, and ridin' two or three horses bareback at once.”