"
"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!"
"Well, I've brung ye up, hain't I?" "I've worked like a nigger, mindin'
shop." "Say forty dollars. I ain't small, an' ef ye git one o' them city
gals, Skim, forty dollars won't mean no more'n a wink of an eye to ye.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172