One day when I had been noticing this, I said:--
"Gault, you are growing too serious for your age; you ought to get a
wife."
He smiled a little quickly, and resumed his former expression, without
replying; but after a moment drew from his pocket book a photograph, and
placed it in my hand.
It was of a most attractive looking young lady of, perhaps, twenty-two
years.
"Ah! I see that my suggestion is not needed," I said, holding the
picture at arm's length to get a better general impression. "Is she
yours?"
He flushed a little at so direct a question, as he answered evasively:--
"She is a very true friend of mine."
"But she is more than that. Now, tell me, Gault, when is your honeymoon
to begin?"
"That is more than I can tell," he replied, slowly returning the
photograph to his pocket book.
"You must not wait to get rich," I observed. "It is when a man is
working for success that he most needs the sympathy and help of a good
wife."
"I know that," replied my friend; "but I am in a peculiar position. Some
day I will tell you all."
I saw that he was growing nervous, and changed the subject of
conversation.
Returning from the post office that afternoon to the old farm house, I
stopped for a little chat with Deacon Thompson, my good natured host,
who was mending his orchard fence; for the well loaded boughs of apples,
just beginning to assume their various tinges of red, yellow, or russet,
offered a strong temptation to the cattle in the adjoining pasture.
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