out what all this clatter's
about. Mr. Long, sir, will you be so good as to explain things?"

There was no smile on Jamie's face and Harry, looking at him, seemed to
realize that it was not a time for pleasantries.

"I hope, Mr. O'Brien," he began soberly, "that you'll forgive me for not
taking things more slowly. I expected to until this morning when Ellen
told me about this Riley fellow. Then I sort of lost my head. I was
afraid of delays and misunderstandings. I've been just crazy about
Ellen. The first time I saw her I knew she was the girl for me and I
came to town today to tell her so. I suppose she knew what I was going
to say and down at the shop, the very first thing, she began telling me
about Riley. Mighty straight of her, I call it. She had got herself
engaged to him but she didn't want to marry him, and it just seemed to
me that the easiest way out of things was for us to get married right
quick. So we hustled over the river and got to the courthouse just
before closing time. It was really my fault, Mr. O'Brien. I made Ellen
do it."

Jamie looked at Ellen thoughtfully. "I don't believe you'd have made her
do it if she hadn't wanted to do it."

"You're right, Dad," Ellen said; "I did want to. I didn't know how
little I cared about George or any one else until Harry came along.
George is good and kind and all that, but we'd never have made a team. I
knew it perfectly well and I was wrong not to tell him so."

Jamie nodded his head. "You're right, Ellen. You've treated him pretty
badly."

Her father's apparent blame of Ellen brought Mrs. O'Brien back to life
and to speech. "Jamie O'Brien, I don't see how you can talk so about
poor Ellen! You know yourself many's the time I've said to you, 'I can't
see Ellen milkin' a cow.' For me own part I think she's wise to choose
the life she has."

"Do you know the life she's chosen?" Jamie asked quietly. "I'm frank to
say I don't." He turned to Harry. "Since you're me son-in-law, Mr. Long,
perhaps you'll be willing to tell me who you are."

"Oh, Dad!" Ellen murmured, and Mrs. O'Brien whispered, "Why, Jamie!"

Harry flushed but answered promptly: "I'm twenty-six years old. I'm a
St. Louie man. I'm a travelling salesman for the Great Ostrich Feather
Company, head office at St. Louie. I'm on a twenty dollar a week salary
with commissions that usually run me up to thirty dollars."

Harry paused and Jamie remarked: "Plenty for a single man. You might
even have sav