They hollered through “The Good Old Summer-Time,” or at least Nathan did, and old man Cuttner in the next room—the same who liked music even in his sleep—arose on one elbow in the dark and swept his arm around the floor at the head of his bed in hope of locating a shoe which he could hurl at the door. Not finding any shoe, however, he slammed over angrily and jerked the bedclothes over his head, muttering something about brainless young cootes who didn’t have gray matter enough to let honest folks get a good night’s rest, and who in hell had Carrie picked up so quick before she’d been in town two days?
“And have you ever been in love?” asked Nathan amusedly, as he sought in the avalanche of melodious sentiment for more breaches of the Cuttner nocturnal peace.
Miss Gardner played the scale with one finger.
“Oh, there’s a dear-enough boy back in A-higher that loves me to distraction. I suppose I’ll marry him eventually. But I can’t quite decide whether I love him enough yet.”
The sheet-music titles fused before Nathan’s gaze and his stomach turned over.
“Has he asked you yet?” was Nathan’s quiet question. He hummed through the tune of the sheet upon his knees—“On the Hills of My Old New Hampshire Home”—as he asked it.
“Oh, yes!” (Long sigh!) “But there’s quite a story to it. Some day maybe I’ll tell it to you. I’d really like your advice as to what it’s best to do.”
Nathan felt himself extremely competent to give advice on what it was best for her to do. In fact, he rather knew in advance what the tenor of that advice would be, regardless of the detail of the predicament. Music rather lost its charm after that. Carol arose and walked across to the window. She stood looking out into the winter moonlight where the shade was but half-way drawn.
“A girl now ought to marry for love alone, hadn’t she?” was her question.
“Absolutely!” affirmed Nathan.