“Thanks, old chap. Well, Barbara and Ben Bragdon are also ready. We’re only waiting for you and Gail.”
Roderick’s face reddened.
“You’re mighty kind but rather premature, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, fudge and nonsense! We’re all agreed the thing’s settled, or as good as settled. Great guns anyone with half an eye could have told it, to see you handing her out of the train a little while ago.”
“Really, Whitley.”
“There now, just forget all that. So when talking matters over with Bragdon and our dear twins I suggested that we might as well ring the wedding bells for six as for two at a time—may come cheaper with the Reverend Grannon, you know, if we hand it to him wholesale.”
Roderick no longer attempted to protest, and Whitley rambled on: “But, say, old fellow, your Uncle Allen has one on you. He declares that Gail Holden is just the very girl he intended for you right from the beginning—the young lady about whom you kicked when you had that row in the banker’s room a year and a half ago—Great Scott, how time does fly!”
“Impossible,” exclaimed Roderick in profound amazement
“The very same,” replied Whitley. “The little tot of a girl with whom you had that desperate love affair down the river years and years ago—oh, quite a pretty story; your uncle told it to me with no end of charming details. And now he is mighty proud, I can tell you, over his own foresight and sagacity in picking just the right girl for you at the very start.”
“He said that, did he?” queried Roderick with a grim smile.