It's just bad luck to be country-born."
"Exactly," said I.
Weston is a keen fellow. There was a quiet, cynical smile on his face
as he sat there beating a tattoo on his leggings with a hickory twig.
"Look at your brother," he exclaimed after a while. "I always told Tim
that if he knew what was best he'd stay right here and----"
"If you told him that now, he would laugh at you," I interrupted.
Weston looked surprised.
"Does he like work?" he exclaimed.
"The boy is in love," I answered.
Weston dropped the hickory twig, and turning, gazed at me.
"I knew that," he said. "I knew that long ago."
"With Edith Parker," I hastened to explain. "You know her?"
"Oh--oh," he muttered.
He pulled out a cigar-case and a box of matches and spent a long time
getting a light.
Then with a glance of inquiry, he said, "Edith Parker?"
"Why, don't you know her?" I asked.
"I know a half a hundred Parkers," he replied. "I may know Edith
Parker, but I can't recall her."
"This one is your book-keeper's daughter," I said with considerable
heat.
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