"Come in!" Bates called out. Westerfelt found him with his back to the
door, sitting over the fire, a leather-bound tome in his lap.
"Hello!" he cried, seeing who it was; "pull up a seat."
Westerfelt drew a rickety chair from beneath a dusty desk and sat down.
"Did you get home all right?" he asked.
"Yes." Bates closed his book, leaving his forefinger in it for a
book-mark; he removed his foot from the side of the chimney and cleared
his throat. "Miss Harriet asked me to fetch her home early; dang it!
I believe she would a-stayed longer, but she was sorry for me."
"Sorry for you--why?"
"Because she couldn't see it my way, I reckon."
"Did she--refuse you?"
Bates threw his book on a table. "Do I look like a man that's goin' to
marry the prettiest and the best girl in the world? Westerfelt, I
didn't sleep a wink last night."
"That's bad."
"Looky' heer, don't give me any shenanigan; you knowed what she'd do
for me. You knowed mighty well."
"Me?"
"Yes, dad burn it; you know she loves you."
"What are you talking about?"
"If you don't know it you are a numskull.
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