to be married and have a home of her own.

"Well," says I, "why don't she get married then? She could drag out and
tie up any single critter of the right sex in this neighborhood with
both hands behind her back."

"Humph!" says he. "I s'pose you'd have her marry one of these
soup-toting college chaps, wouldn't you? Then they could live on Greek
for breakfast and Latin for dinner and warm over the leavings for
supper. No, sir! a girl hasn't no right to get married unless she gets
a man with money. There's a deck-load of millionaires comes here every
summer, and I'm goin' to help her land one of 'em. It's my duty as a
Christian," says he.

One evening, along the second week in July 'twas, I got up from the
supper-table and walked over toward the hotel, smoking, and thinking
what I'd missed in not having a girl like that set opposite me all these
years. And, in the shadder of the big bunch of lilacs by the gate, I see
a feller standing, a feller with a leather bag in his hand, a stranger.

"Good evening," says I. "Looking for the hotel, was you?"

He swung round, kind of lazy-like, and looked at me. Then I noticed
how big he was. Seemed to me he was all of seven foot high and broad
according. And rigged up--my soul! He had on a wide, felt hat, with a
whirligig top onto it, and a light checked suit, and gloves, and slung
more style than a barber on Sunday. If I'D wore them kind of duds they'd
have had me down to Danvers, clanking chains and picking straws, but on
this young chap they looked fine.