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Updated: May 1, 2025
Surprisin' how cheerful I could be so long as it was a case of Miss Pulsifer's young man. I pumps the whole tale out of Ferdie, how this Mr. Bert Gilkey cute name too had been writin' her letters all the time from out West, how he'd been seized with a sudden fit, wired on that he must see her once more, and had rushed East.
Then how Pa Pulsifer had caught 'em lalligaggin' out by the hedge, had talked real rough to Gilkey, and ordered him never to muddy his front doormat again. "And now," goes on Ferdie, "he sends word to Edna that he means to try it once more, no matter what happens, and everyone is all stirred up."
On my way back to Johnstown I spent ten days at Troy, where I preached in the Unitarian church on Sunday evening. During this visit we had two hearings in the Capitol at Albany one in the Senate Chamber and one in the Assembly, before the Committee on Grievances. On both occasions Mrs. Mary Seymour Howell, Mrs. Devereux Blake, Mrs. Caroline Gilkey Rogers, and I addressed the Committee.
"Anyway," says he, "I just wasn't goin' to be driven off that way. It it isn't fair to either of us." "Then it's a clear case with both of you, is it?" says I. "We are engaged," says Gilkey, "and I don't care who knows it! It's not her money I'm after, either. We don't want a dollar from Mr. Pulsifer. We we just want each other."
"Oh, it's dreadful!" puffs Marjorie. "He he's come!" "That Gilkey guy?" says I. "Ye-e-es," says she. "But but how did you know?" "I'm a seventh son, born with a cowlick," says I. "Was it Gilkey made his entrance through the cucumber frame?" It was. Also he'd managed to cut himself in the ankles and right wrist.
He'd made his grand roarin' lion play, which had always scared the tar out of his folks, and he'd responded to an encore. Yet here was this mild-eyed young gent with the pale hair and the square jaw not even wabbly in the knees from it. "Come, Edna," says Gilkey, holdin' out a hand to her. "Let's go into the dining-room." "But but see here!" gasps Pa Pulsifer, makin' a final effort.
Course that was proddin' him a little rough, but I wanted to bring this thing to a head somehow. Made Gilkey squirm in his chair too. He begins rollin' his trousers down over the bandages and struggles into his coat. "I suppose you're right," says he. "I I think I will go in and see Mr. Pulsifer." "Wha-a-at?" says I. "Now?" "Why not?" says he, pushin' through the swing door. "Hey!"
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