"If you do I'll get her for you," pursued Craig, his hand seeking
Arkwright's arm to grip it.

Arkwright drew away, laughed outright. "You ARE a joke!" he cried,
wholly cured of his temper by the preposterous offer. It would be
absurd enough for any one to imagine he would need help in
courting any woman he might fancy--he, one of the most eligible of
American bachelors. It passed the uttermost bounds of the absurd,
this notion that he would need help with a comparatively poor
girl, many seasons out and eager to marry. And then, climax of
climaxes, that Josh Craig could help him! "Yes, a joke," he
repeated.

"Oh, no doubt I do seem so to you," replied Josh unruffled.
"People are either awed or amused by what they're incapable of
understanding. At this stage of my career I'm not surprised to
find they're amused. But wait, my boy. Meanwhile, if you want that
lady, all you've got to do is to say the word. I'll get her for
you."

"Thanks; no," said Arkwright. "I'm rather shy of matrimony. I
don't hanker after the stupid joys of family life, as you do."

"That's because of your ruinous, rotten training," Craig assured
him. "It has destroyed your power to appreciate the great
fundamentals of life. You think you're superior. If you only knew
how shallow you are!"

"I've a competent valet," said Arkwright. "And your idea of a wife
seems to be a sort of sublimated valet--and nurse."