"'What's the matter now?' I says.

"'I don't believe Lizzie cares for me.'

"'How's that?' I says.

"'Last Sunday she was out riding with Tom Bryson, an' every Sunday
afternoon I find half-a-dozen young fellows up there.'

"'Well, ye know, Lizzie is attractive, an' she ain't our'n yit--not
just yit,' I says. 'If young men come to see her she's got to be
polite to 'em. You wouldn't expect her to take a broom an' shoo
'em off?'

"'But I don't have anything to do with other girls.'

"'An' you're jealous as a hornet,' I says. 'Lizzie wants you to
meet other girls. When Lizzie marries it will be for life. She'll
want to know that you love her an' only her. You keep right on
tryin' to catch up with Lizzie, an' don't be worried.'

"He stopped strappin' the razor of his discontent, but left me with
unhappy looks. That very week I saw him ridin' about with Marie
Benson in his father's motor-car.

"Soon a beautiful thing happened. I have told you of the
melancholy end of the cashier of one of our local banks. Well, in
time his wife followed him to the cemetery. She was a distant
relative of Sam's wife, an' a friend of Lizzie. We found easy