“You don’t say. Now, ain’t that too bad? But, girl o’ mine, I expect you were able to make it out, even if I did get the letters to milling around wrong. I meant them feelings all right. Outside of the spelling, did you have any objections to them,
“How can I remember what you wrote in that letter several days ago?”
“I’ll bet you know it by heart, honey, and, if you don’t, you’ll find it in your inside vest pocket, tucked away right close to your heart.”
“It isn’t,” she denied, with a blush.
“Sho! Pinned to your shirt then, little pardner. I ain’t particular which. Point is, if you need to refresh that ailin’ memory of yours, the document is—right handy. But you don’t need to. It just says one little sentence over and over again. All you have got to do is to say one little word, and you don’t have to say it but once.”
“I don’t understand you,” her lips voiced.
“You understand me all right. What my letter said was ‘I love you,’ and what you have got to say is: ‘Yes’.”
“But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“I’ll make out the meaning when you say it.”
“Do I have to say it?”