time when every decent man
wants to settle down. I been thinkin' about that a lot lately.... What
do YOU think about it?" Drazk had gone white. He felt that he actually
had proposed to her.

"Might be a good idea," she replied, demurely. He changed feet again.
He had gone too far to stop. He must strike the iron when it was hot. Of
course he had no desire to stop, but it was all so wonderful. He could
speak to her now in a whisper.

"How about you, Miss? How about you an' me jus' settlin' down?"

She did not answer for a moment. Then, in a low voice,

"It wouldn't be fair to accept you like this, Mr. Drazk. You don't know
anything about me."

"An' I don't want to--I mean, I don't care what about you."

"But it wouldn't be fair until you know," she continued. "There are
things I'd have to tell you, and I don't like to."

She was looking downwards now, and he fancied he could see the color
rising about her cheeks and her frame trembling. He turned toward her
and extended his arms. "Tell me--tell your own George," he cooed.

"No," she said, with sudden rigidity. "I can't confess."

"Come on," he pleaded. "Tell me. I've been a bad man, too."

She seemed to be weighing the matter. "If I tell you, you will never,
never mention it to anyone?"

"Never. I swear it to you," dramatically raising his hand.

"Well," she said, looking down bashfully and making little marks with
her finger-nail in the pole on which they were leaning, "I never told
anyone before, and nobody in the world knows it except he and I, and he
doesn't know it now either, because I killed him.... I had to do it."

"Of course you did, dear," he murmured. It was wonderful to receive a
woman's confidence like this.

"Yes, I had to kill him," she repeated. "You see, he--he proposed to me
without being introduced!"

It was some seconds before Drazk felt the blow. It came to him
gradually, like returning consciousness to a man who has been stunned.
Then anger swept him.

"You're playin' with me," he cried. "You're makin' a fool of me!"

"Oh, George dear, how could I?" she protested. "Now perhaps you better
run along to that Pete-horse. He looks lonely."

"All right," he said, striding away angrily. As he walked his rage
deepened, and he turned and shook his fist at her, shouting, "All right,
but I'll get you yet, see? You think you're smart, and Transley thinks
he's smart, but George Drazk is smarter than both of you, and he'll get
you yet."