"My
God, man!" he entreated, "don't make a fool of yourself. Mr. Cahill,"
he cried aloud, "you can't go till you know. Can he, Mary? Yes,
Mary." The tone in which he repeated the name was proprietary and
commanding. He took her hand. "Mr. Cahill," he said, joyously, "we've
got something to tell you. I want you to understand that in spite of
all I'VE done--I say in spite of all I'VE done--I mean getting into
this trouble and disgrace, and all that--I've dared to ask your
daughter to marry me." He turned and led Miss Cahill swiftly toward
the veranda. "Oh, I knew he wouldn't like it," he cried. "You see. I
told you so. You've got to let me talk to him alone. You go outside
and wait. I can talk better when you are not here. I'll soon bring
him around."
"Father," pleaded Miss Cahill, timidly. From behind her back Ranson
shook his head at the post-trader in violent pantomime. "She'd better
go outside and wait, hadn't she, Mr. Cahill?" he directed.
As he was bidden, the post-trader raised his head and nodded toward
the door. The onslaught of sudden and new conditions overwhelmed and
paralyzed him.
"Father!" said Miss Cahill, "it isn't just as you think.
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