I was a handsome feller when I first came here, wasn't
I, Flora? I leave it to you if I wasn't."
"I don't remember how you looked when you first came here," replied
Miss Grady loftily.
"Can you beat that?" cried Charlie to Courtney across the table.
"And she used to say I was the handsomest young feller she'd ever
laid eyes on. Used to say I looked like,--who was it you used to
say I looked like, Flora?"
"The only thing I ever said you looked like was a mud fence, Charlie
Webster."
"What did she say, Pa? Hey?" This from old Mrs. Nichols, holding
her hand to her ear. "What are they laughing at?"
"She says Charlie looks like a mud fence," shouted old Mr. Nichols,
his lips close to her ear.
"His pants? What about his pants?"
This time Courtney joined in the laugh.
After supper he sat on the front porch with the Pollocks and Miss
Grady. It was a warm, starry night. Charlie Webster and Doc Simpson
had strolled off down the street. Mr. Hatch and Miss Miller sat in
the parlour.
"She's going to land Furman Hatch, sure as you're a foot high,"
confided Mr. Pollock, with a significant jerk of his head in the
direction of the parlour.
"Heaven knows she's been trying long enough," said Miss Grady. "I
heard him ask Doc and Charlie to wait for him, but she nabbed him
before he could get out. Now he's got to sit in there and listen
to her tell about how interested she is in art,--and him just dyin'
for a smoke.
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