“That’s the time,” says she. “It’s to be at our house.”
“Rebosa,” says I, “listen to me. If Eddie Bayles had a thousand dollars cash—a thousand dollars, mind you, would buy him a store of his own—if you and Eddie had that much to excuse matrimony on, would you consent to marry him this evening at five o’clock?”
The girl looks at me a minute; and I can see these inaudible cogitations going on inside of her, as women will.
“A thousand dollars?” says she. “Of course I would.”
“Come on,” says I. “We’ll go and see Eddie.”
We went up to Crosby’s store and called Eddie outside. He looked to be estimable and freckled; and he had chills and fever when I made my proposition.
“At five o’clock?” says he, “for a thousand dollars? Please don’t wake me up! Well, you are the rich uncle retired from the spice business in India! I’ll buy out old Crosby and run the store myself.”
We went inside and got old man Crosby apart and explained it. I wrote my check for a thousand dollars and handed it to him. If Eddie and Rebosa married each other at five he was to turn the money over to them.
And then I gave ’em my blessing, and went to wander in the wildwood for a season. I sat on a log and made cogitations on life and old age and the zodiac
