Now George spoke up boldly: “As long as you have abolished the speed limit, Judge Wiggin, I am going to improve the occasion to ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage. Doubtless it will seem rather hasty to you, but everything has moved with a rush this afternoon. I have put the question to Bessie, and won her consent.” The governor stared. Miss Nancy nearly fainted. Bessie Wiggin trembled visibly. Nathan P. Wiggin gazed hard at the young man for about thirty seconds, and then scratched his chin, a queer pucker screwing up his face. “Wull, I declare!” said the judge at last. “That is going some! Never quite reckoned on my darter hookin’ up with a shuffer, but, having saved me from drownding, you’ve took me at a disadvantage. If Bessie has said yes, and you kin furnish the proper creedenshuls I’ll have to take your proposition under consideration, I guess.” The governor looked Bessie Wiggin over appraisingly, and decided that he had made no mistake in thinking her an unusually pretty and charming young lady. “It is sudden,” he said, laughing softly, “and it would not have happened if George had not offered to drive for me to-day, my regular chauffeur being ill. In the way of credentials, judge, let me state that he is my son.” The judge’s sister sat bolt upright in a jiffy. The judge coughed behind his hand, the pucker crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Them creedenshuls, governor,” he stated, “are wholly satisfactory to me.” His whole body seemed to shake oddly. “I’m afraid I’m going to have a chill, after all,” he added. “I think the governor and me had better take a little walk in the moonlight.” THE END [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the May 1, 1915 issue of the _Top Notch_ magazine published by Street & Smith Company.]