y and dizzy
for a second, and I expect I gawps at him open faced. Then I takes a
brace. Had to. I don't know how well I did it either, or how convincin'
it sounded, but I found myself shakin' him by the mitt and sayin':
"Congratulations, Westlake. You--you've got a girl worth gettin',
believe me!"

"Thanks awfully, old man," says he, still pumpin' my arm up and down. "I
can hardly realize it myself. Awfully bad case I had, you know. And now,
while I have the courage, I suppose I'd best see her mother."

"Wha-a-at?" says I, starin' at him.

"I know," says he, "it isn't being done much nowadays, but somehow I
think I ought. You know I haven't even met Mrs. Ull as yet."

I hope he was so fussed he didn't notice that sigh of relief I let out;
for I'll admit it was some able-bodied affair,--a good deal like
shuttin' off the air in a brake connection, or rippin' a sheet. Anyway,
I made up for it the next minute.

"You and Doris, eh?" says I, poundin' him on the back hearty. "Ain't you
the foxy pair, though? Well, well! Here, let's have another shake on
that. But why not see Father and tell him about it? Know the old gent,
don't you?"

"Ye-e-es," says Westy, flushin' a bit. "But he--well, he's her father,
of course. She can't help that. And it makes no difference at all to me
if he isn't really refined--not a bit. But--but I'd rather not talk to
him just now. I--I prefer to see Mrs. Ull."

I can't say just what I felt so friendly and fraternal to him about
then; but I did. "Westy," says I, "take my advice about this hunch of
yours to see Mother. Don't!"

"But really," he insists, "I must tell one or the other, don't you see.
And unless I do it right away I know I never can at all. Besides I've
made up my mind that Mrs. Ull ought to be the first to know. I--I'm
going to ring for the maid and ask to see her."

"Good nerve!" says I, slappin' him on the shoulder. "In that case I'll
just slip into the back room there and shut the door."

"Oh, I say!" says he, glancin' around panicky. "I--I wish you'd stay.
I--I don't fancy facing her alone. Please stay!"

"It ain't reg'lar," says I.

"I don't care," says Westy, pleadin'. "You could sort of introduce me,
you know, and--and help me out if I got stuck. You would, wouldn't you?"

And it was amazin' how diff'rent I felt towards Westy from five minutes
before. His best friend couldn't have looked on him fonder, or promised
to stand by him closer. I calls the maid myself,