Nichols, close to
her ear.
"Pass the bread, Doc," said Mr. Hatch, getting pinker and pinker.
"When's it to take place, Angle?" inquired Charlie, resuming his
seat. He cast a sharp look at Courtney. The young man shifted his
gaze immediately.
"As I explained to Mr. Pollock, everything depends on my aunt,"
said Angie composedly. "She is very old,--eighty-three, in fact."
"You don't mean to say your aunt objects to your marrying old
Tintype," exclaimed Charlie.
"Not at all," replied Angie, somewhat tartly.
"You see, it's this way," volunteered Mr. Pollock. "Miss Angie is
the sole support of a venerable and venerated aunt who lives in
Frankfort. That is a thing to be considered. Her duty to her father's
sister--"
Courtney interrupted, chuckling. "It's too much to ask of any
woman. I suppose it must take nearly all you earn, Miss Miller,
to support your aged relative, so naturally you do not feel like
taking on Mr. Hatch immediately."
There was a moment's silence around the table.
"I see by the Chicago Tribune," said Mr. Pollock, after a hurried
gulp of coffee, "that there's likely to be a strike of the street-car
men up there."
"You don't say so," said Doc Simpson, looking so concerned that
one might have been led to suspect that he was dismayed over the
prospect of getting to his office the next day.
"What's the world coming to?" sighed Maude Baggs Pollock nervously.
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