"Havin' to do with what?" "That coffee gal, that baggage, that hussy!" "Um!... Sich as?" "Recall that show Bogle was took to in Boston?" "Where the wimmin wore tights--that's been on his mind ever since? Calc'late I do. Kind of a high spot in Bogle's life. Come nigh bein' the makin' of him." "He claims he recognizes this here gal as one of them dancin' wimmin that stood in a row with less on to them than any woman ever ought to have with the lights turned on." "No!" exclaimed Scattergood. "Yep!" said all three of them in chorus. "Stood right in front, as I recall it, a-makin' eyes and kickin' up her heels that immodest you wouldn't b'lieve. Looked right at me, too. I seen her." "Got your money's wuth, then, didn't ye? Wa-al?" "Suthin's got to be done." "Sich as?" "Riddin' the town of her." "Go ahead and rid it, then.... G'-by." "But we want you sh'u'd help us." "G'-by," said Scattergood again, as he moved off ponderously into the darkness. The elder moved nearer Bogle and endeavored to peer into his face. "Be you sure she's the same one?" he asked, in a confidential whisper. "Wa-al--they was about the same heft," said Bogle, "and if this hain't her, it ought to be. I kin b'lieve it, can't I? Got a right to b'lieve it, hain't I? Good fer the town to b'lieve it, hain't it?" "Calc'late 'tis." "All right, then. I aim to keep on b'lievin' it." Next day Homer Locker abandoned his work and with the utmost brazenness hired a rig at the livery and drove to the hotel. A group of notables assembled upon the bridge to watch the event. They saw him emerge from the inn with Yvette, help her into the buggy with great solicitude, and drive away. They did not return until supper time was long past. "I'm determined to git this settled one way or t'other," said Homer, after a long pause. "Be you goin' to marry me?" "Why do you want me?" Yvette asked, fixing her eyes on his face. "Is it just because you think I'm pretty?" He considered. It was a hard question for a young man not adept in the use of words to answer. "'Tain't jest that," he said, finally. "I like you bein' perty. But it's somethin' else. I hain't able to explain it, exceptin' that I want you more'n I ever wanted anythin' in my life." "Maybe, when I tell you about myself, you won't want me at all." He paused again, while she studied his face anxiously. "I dunno.... I--. Tell ye what. I want you like I know you. I'm satisfied. I don't want you to tell me nothin'. I don't want to know nothin'." He turned and looked with clumsy gravity into her eyes, which did not waver. "Besides," he said, "I don't believe you got anythin' discreditable to tell." "I want to tell you." "I don't want to hear," he said, simply. "I'd rather take you, jest trustin' you and knowin' in my heart that you're good. Somehow I _know_ it." She bit her lip, her eyes were moist, and she sat very still for a long time; then she said, softly: "I didn't know men like that lived.... I didn't know."