"
"See here, Ezra Stokes, the girl of my heart may refuse me just as
plump as I offer myself; and if that's her mind she has a right to
do it. But I don't want either you or her to think I won't stand
on my feet. I won't even fight any more recklessly than my duty
requires. I have a mother to take care of, even if I never have a
wife."
"I'll put in a few pegs right along to keep in mind what you say;
and I'll give you a fair show by seeing to it that the girl gets
your letter before Zeke can steal a march on you."
"That's all I ask," said Zeb, with compressed lips. "She shall
choose between us. It's hard enough to write, but it will be a
sight easier than facing her. Not a word of this to another soul,
Ezra; but I'm not going to use you like a mail-carrier, but a
friend. After all, there are few in Opinquake, I suppose, but know
I'd give my eyes for her, so there isn't much use of my putting on
secret airs."
"I'm not a talker, and you might have sent your letter by a worse
messenger'n me," was the laconic reply.
Zeb had never written a love-letter, and was at a loss how to
begin or end it.
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