"But I don't see your point of view," she cried. "Just because you're
sorry for a girl don't mean you want to make her your wife."
"It isn't sorrowing," I said. "It's wanting. It's the right kind of
wanting. It's the wanting that would rather wait than hurt you; that
would rather do without you than hurt you."
"And you'll trust me with all your savings and go away to Australia--and
if I find some other man that I like better you'll let me off from
marrying you? Is that it?"
"That's about it," I said.
"And suppose," says she, "that you don't come back, and nobody shows up,
and the money goes?"
That was a new point of view.
"Well," said I, "we've got to take some chances in this world."
"We have," said she. "And now look here--I don't know how much of it's
wanting and how much of it's fear--but if you'll take chances I will."
She turned as red as a beet and looked away.
"In words of two syllables," said I, "what do you mean?"
"I mean," she said--and she was still as red as a beet, but this time
she looked me in my eyes without a flinch in hers--"that if you're dead
sure you want me--are you?--if you're dead sure, why, I'll take chances
on my wanting you. I believe every word you've said to me. Is that
right?"
"Every word," I said. "That is right."
Then we looked at each other for a long time.
"What a lot we'll have to tell each other," she said, "before we're
really acquainted. But you're sure? You're quite sure?"
"Sure that I want you? Yes," I said; "not sure that you ought not to
wait and think me over."
"You've begun," she said, "with everything that's noble and generous. I
could never look myself in the face again if I felt called upon to begin
by being mean."
"Hadn't you better think it over?" I said. "Hadn't you?"
But she put her hands on my shoulders.
"If an angel with wings had come with gifts," she said, "would I have
thought them over? And just because your wings don't show----"
"It isn't fair," I mumbled. "I give you a choice between the streets and
me and you feel forced to choose me."
But she pulled my head down and gave me a quick, fierce kiss.
"There," said she--"was that forced? Did you force me to do that? No,"
she said; "you needn't think you're the only person in the world that
wants another person.... If you go to Australia I don't wait here. I go
too. If you sink by the way, I sink. And don't you go to thinking you've
made me a one-sided bargain.... I can cook for you and mend for you and
save for you. And if you're sick I can nurse you. And I can black your
boots."
"I thought," said I, "that you were just a little girl that I wanted,
but you turn out to be the whole world that I've got to have. Slip the
rest of your canvas on and I'll hook it up for you. Then we'll find some
one to marry us--'nless you'd rather wait."
"Wait?" said she, turning her back and standing still, which most women
haven't sense enough to do when a man's ten thumbs are trying to hook
them up. "I've been waiting all my life for this--and you!"
"And I," said I, splitting a thumb-nail, "would go through an eternity
of hell if I knew that this was at the end of it--and you!"
"What is your church?" she asked of a sudden.
"Same as yours," I said, "which is----"
"Does it matter," said she, "if God is in it? Do you pray?"
"No," said I; "do you?"
"Always," she said, "before I go to bed."
"Then I will," said I; "always--before we do."
"Sometimes," she said, "I've been shaken about God. Was to-night--before
you came. But He's made good--hasn't He?"
"He has," I said. "And now you're hooked up. And I wish it was to do all
over again. I loved doing it."
"Did you?" said she.
Her eyes were bright and brave like two stars. She slipped her hand
through my arm and we marched out of the opera-house. Half a dozen young
globe-trotters were at the stage-door waiting to take a chance on Miss
Green as she came out, but none of them spoke. We headed for the nearest
city directory and looked up a minister.