Milly thought it a great lark. On the way uptown her head was swimming with the realization.
“I guess Pa and Maw ain’t got the stunning of their lives coming when they see I’ve copped off the boss!”
VI
One night back over the years, Nathan and I had idled down the Green River in the starlight, and the poet had dreamed dreams of his wedding day—fantastic, vague, exotic—the wonder noon of the future all blurred in autumn lights, laughter, love and flowers.
Fred Babcock, real-estate agent and justice of the peace, in the Norwalk Block, tucked a small brown flask hurriedly in the bottom drawer of his desk when he heard somebody coming up the stairs. He threw his “chew” in the stove and nipped his finger on the hot iron door. He was shaking the smarting hand and swearing when Nathan appeared in the doorway. There was some one behind him.
“Mr. Babcock,” asked the boy in a strained voice, “wonder if I could get you to perform a m-m-marriage?”
“Whose?” gaped Fred.
“Mine! Mine and Miss Richards.”
Fred looked from one to the other blankly.
“Well, of course, if it’s bad as that,” he assented. “Come in! Gawd! I ain’t hitched nobody for so long b’darned if I know where to look for the book.”