know!" said Quimby candidly. "You see, I—I tried to tell her of it once, before you came here, when you were invisible, you know, but some way she—she didn't just understand, and—and bolted, you know! So just tell me how to do it, that is a good fellow, for do it I must!"
Clem picked up his blacking-brush, and very deliberately smeared the boot he had just polished, with another coat of blacking, before answering.
"How can I tell you?" he said at last. "You don't suppose proposing is an every-day habit of mine, do you? My dear boy, I never proposed in my life!"
"But you—you ought to—I mean you will sometime, you know! Just give me a—a start, you know!" pleaded Quimby, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"Shall I call her and propose for you?" inquired Clem, somewhat ironically, and glancing at the sounder.
"No—no—I—No!" cried Quimby in great alarm at this proposition. "She might think you meant yourself, you know!"
"In—which case the rejection would be sure!" said Clem. Then flinging his brush savagely into a corner, he added as he went out,
"You must settle it yourself, old fellow! No
