"Indeed," said he calmly. "Parker--Parker--I thought our book-keeper's
name was Smyth. Yes--I'm quite sure it's Smyth."
"But Tim says it's Parker," said I. "Tim ought to know."
"Tim should know," laughed Weston. "I guess he does know better than
I. A minute ago I would have sworn it was Smyth; but to tell the
truth, I never gave any attention to such details of business. Well,
Edith is my book-keeper's daughter."
"She lives in Brooklyn," said I, "and she is very beautiful. Every
letter I get from Tim, the more beautiful she becomes, for in all my
life I never heard of a fellow as frank as he is. Usually men hide
what sentiment they have except from a few women, but his letters make
me blush when I read them."
"They are so full of gush," said Weston, calmly smoking.
He seemed very indifferent, and to be more listening to the cries of
the dogs working around the hollow than to the affairs of the Hope
family.
"Gush is the word for it," I answered. "Tim never gives me a line
about himself. It's all Edith--Edith--Edith.
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