Vincent should have been headin' for the dairy lunch, but he starts in the other direction and after followin' him for five blocks I sees him dive into a jewelry store. Maybe that don't get a gasp out of me, too. Looks like our little Vincent was some speedy performer, don't it? And sure enough, by rubberin' in through the door, I can see a clerk haulin' out a tray of rings. Think of that! Vincent. He must have been in there before and looked over the stock, for inside of ten minutes out he comes again. And by makin' a quick maneuver I manages to bump into him as he's leavin' the front door with the little white box in his fist. "Well, well!" says I. "What's all this mean, old son? Been buyin' out the spark shop? I expect somebody's going to get a weddin' present, eh?" "Not--not exactly," says Vincent, his cheeks pinkin' up and his right hand slidin' toward his coat pocket. "Oh, ho!" says I, grabbin' the wrist and exposin' the little square package. "A ring or I'm a poor guesser. And it's for the sweetest girl in the world, ain't it?" "It is," says Vincent, just a bit defiant. "Congratulations, old man," says I, poundin' him friendly on the shoulder. "I don't suppose I could guess who, could I?" "I--I don't think you could," says Vincent. "Then it's my blow to luncheon--reg'lar chop-house feed in honor of the big event," says I. "Come along, Vincent, while I order a bottle of one and a half per cent. to drink to your luck." Course, he can't very well get away from that, me being one of his bosses, as you might say. But he acts a little uneasy. "You see, sir," says he, "it--it isn't quite settled." "I get you," says I. "Going to spring it on her tonight, eh?" He admits that is the plan. "Durin' the course of a little dinner, eh?" I goes on. Vincent nods. "That's taking the high dive, all right," says I. "Lets you in deep, you know, when you go shovin' solitaires at 'em. But I expect you've thought it over careful and picked out the right girl." "She is perfectly splendid," says Vincent. "Well, that helps some," says I. "One that Mother approves of, I'll bet." "Why," says Vincent, his chin droppin', "I am sure she will like her when--when she sees her." "Let's see, Vincent," says I, "you're all of nineteen, ain't you?" "Nearly twenty," says he. "How we do come along!" says I. "Why, when you took my old place on the gate you was still wearin' knickers, wasn't you? And now--I suppose it'll be a case of your bringin' home a new daughter to help Mother, eh?" "Ye-e-es," says Vincent draggy. "Lucky she's the right kind, then," I suggests. "She's a wonderful girl, Torchy. Wonderful," says he. "Well, I expect you're a judge," says I. "I've never known anyone just like her," he goes on, "and if she'll have me----" He wags his head determined.