"]
Perry looked at me appealingly. Men hesitate to speak of love--except
to women. He had already shown a frankness that was surprising, but
then with a certain deftness he had placed me in the position of the
sentimental one with a problem to solve. He was seeking for himself a
solution of that problem, and was appealing to me to help him.
"Suppose again," said I, "that going another day to see the girl, I
found her poring over a pile of books--all new books--just given her by
this same arrogant interloper." Perry was silent, but when I paused
and looked at him, I saw in his face that I was arguing along the right
line. "Then the question arises, what shall I do?"
Perry nodded.
"What would you do?" he said. "That's it exact."
"I'd meet him at his own game," I answered.
"With what?" he asked.
"With what?" I repeated.
There was the rub! With what? I sat with my head clasped between my
hands trying to answer him.
"With what?" I repeated, after a long silence.
"S'posin' I got her a wreath.
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