Billy had long had it in his mind that Jerry Crawford was the only girl in the world for him, but he might not have spoken quite; so soon had it not been for a conversation held with his father the previous night, when they were alone in a private room at the hotel in Shannondale, waiting for the train which Billy was to take, and which was half an hour late.  Peterkin had exhausted himself in oaths and epithets with regard to the lawsuit and those who had brought it against him, and was regaling himself with a cigar and a glass of brandy and water, while Billy sat by the window watching for the train and wishing himself at Grassy Spring with Jerrie.  Peterkin seldom drank to excess, but on this occasion he had taken a little too much.  When under the influence of stimulants, he was either aggressive and quarrelsome, or jocose and talkative.  The latter mood was on him now, and as he drank his brandy and water he held forth upon the subject of matrimony, wondering why his son did not marry, and saying it was quite time he did so and settled down.

‘You can have the south wing,’ he said, ’and if the rooms ain’t up to snuff now, why, I’ll make ’em so.  The fact is, Bill, I’ve got money enough—­three millions and better; but somehow it doesn’t seem to do the thing.  It doesn’t fetch us to the quality and make us fust-cut.  We need better blood than the Peterkins or the Moshers—­need boostin’, and you must get a wife to boost us.  Have you ever thought on’t?’

‘Billy never had thought of it in that light,’ he said, although he had thought of marrying, providing the girl would have him.

’Have you!  Thunderation!  A girl would be a fool who wouldn’t marry three millions, with Lubber-too thrown in!  Who is she?’ Peterkin asked.

After a little hesitancy Billy replied: 

‘Jerrie Crawford.’

‘Jerrie Crawford!  I’ll be dammed!  Jerrie Crawford!’ and Peterkin’s big feet came down from the back of the chair on which they were resting, upsetting the chair and his brandy at the same time.  ’Jerrie Crawford!  I swow!  A gal without a cent, or name either, though I used to have a sneakin’ notion that I knew who she was, but I guess I didn’t.  ’Twould have come out afore now.  What under heavens put her into your noddle?  She can’t boost! and then she’s head and shoulders taller than you be!  How you would look trottin’ beside her!  Jerrie Crawford!  Wal, I swan!’ and Peterkin laughed until his big stomach shook like a bowl of jelly.

Billy was angry, and replied that he did not know what height had to do with it, or name either; and as for boosting, he wouldn’t marry a king’s daughter, if he did not love her; and for that matter Jerrie could boost, for she stood quite as high in town as any young lady.

Both Nina St. Claire and Maude Tracy worshipped her, while Mrs. Atherton paid her a great deal of attention; and so did the Mungers and Crosbys—­enough sight more than they did to Ann Eliza with all her money.