"Skim, you 'member in thet las' book we read, 'The Angel Maniac's Revenge,' there was a sayin' that fate knocks wunst on ev'ry man's door. Well, fate's knockin' on your door." Skim listened, with a nervous glance toward the doorway. Then he shook his head. "All fool fancy, ma," he remarked. "Don't ye go an' git no rumantic notions out'n books inter yer head." "Skim, am I a fool, er ain't I?" "'Tain't fer me ter say, ma." "Fate's knockin', an' if you don't open to it, Skim, I'll wash my hands o' ye, an' ye kin jest starve to death." The boy looked disturbed. "What's aggrivatin' of ye, then?" he enquired, anxiously. "A millionaire is come right under yer nose. He's here in Millville, with three gals fer nieces thet's all got money to squander an's bound to hev more." Skim gave a low whistle. "Ye don't mean fer me to be courtin' at them gals, do ye?" he demanded. "Why not? Yer fambly's jest as respectible as any, 'cept thet yer Uncle Mell backslided after the last revival, an' went to a hoss race. Yer young, an' yer han'some; an' there's three gals waitin' ready to be won by a bold wooer. Be bold, Skim; take fate by the fetlock, an' yer fortun's made easy!" Skim did not reply at once. He gulped down his tea and stared at the opposite wall in deep thought. It wasn't such a "tarnal bad notion," after all, and so thoroughly impressed was he with his own importance and merit that it never occurred to him he would meet with any difficulties if he chose to undertake the conquest. "Peggy says marri'ge is the mark of a fool; an' Peggy married money, too," he remarked slowly. "Pah! money! Mary Ann Cotting didn't hev but a hundred an' forty dollars, all told, an' she were an old maid an' soured an' squint-eyed when Peggy hitched up with her." "I hain't seen nuthin' o' the world, yit," continued Skim, evasively. "Ner ye won't nuther, onless ye marry money. Any one o' them gals could take ye to Europe an' back a dozen times." Skim reflected still farther. "Courtin' ought to hev some decent clothes," he said. "I kain't set in the nabob's parlor, with all thet slick furnitur', in Nick Thorne's cast-off Sunday suit." "The cloth's as good as ever was made, an' I cut 'em down myself, an' stitched 'em all over." "They don't look like store clothes, though," objected Skim. The widow sighed. "Tain't the coat that makes the man, Skim." "It's the coat thet makes decent courtin', though," he maintained, stubbornly. "Gals like to see a feller dressed up. It shows he means business an' 'mounts to somethin'." "I give Nick Thorne two dollars an' a packidge o' terbacker fer them clotlies, which the on'y thing wrong about was they'd got too snug fer comfert. Nick said so himself. But I'll make a bargain with ye, Skim. Ef you'll agree to give me fifty dollars after yer married, I'll buy ye some store clothes o' Sam Cotting, to do courtin' in." "Fifty dollars!"