I
couldn't, and I bet I could, and I believe it was then that I really
made up my mind to get married. Don't you believe it could be done on
that?" Mr. Margent found himself the subject of a suffusion of ideas,
and had the appearance of being surprised at his own gifts.

Miss Josephine was of the opinion, in a low voice, and with an
expression of intense interest in the lace in her sleeve, that it
could be done for that.

"Well, now," said the ardent youth, moving over to the sofa where she
was sitting, and settling himself down beside her, "why shouldn't we
get married? You're just the kind of girl I like--tip-top, you know. I
like a girl with style about her. Come, say yes." And here the crude
outlines of something like a joke, for the first time in Mr. Margent's
history, began to be visible to him in the dim recesses of his obese
mind. "Let's make it buyer sixty days," and he laughed until his small
eyes almost closed.

"And what's buyer sixty days, you horrid man?"

"Why, don't you know that? I should have thought you'd know that. It's
when the buyer has sixty days to call for the stock. Let's get married
in sixty days, and we'll invite all the boys."

Poor Miss Josephine! Was this her romance? She had not counted on
much--but was this all? She was a sensible and practical girl,
however, and the instructions of an excellent mother had not been lost
upon her. She yielded herself to the embrace of this winsome wooer,
her head drooped upon his shoulder, and he was just about to collect
the dividend of a kiss, when the hall door swung open with a crash,
and no other than Ogla-Moga plunged into the room, with a bundle
intended for Miss Slopham. It was Ogla-Moga's unfortunate peculiarity
that all floors were alike to him, and likewise all interiors. He
stood in the dark hallway glaring with amazement upon the bewildered
couple. Miss Josephine screamed, and Mr. Margent swore with actual
animation. Ogla-Moga grew still more excited. He had learned enough of
civilized life to know that strangers and intruders were objects of
suspicion.

"G'out! g'out!" he roared, with his voice at prairie pitch. "G'out! or
I put you out!"

Miss Josephine screamed again; her estimable mother rushed in by the
door leading to the bedrooms, followed by three children, all beside
themselves with curiosity and wonder, and Mr. Ayr himself appeared in
the doorway leading to the dining-room, in a state of respectable
consternation; and last