pick a piece [have luncheon] at the tavern,’ I says.  But no, he says I was to come eat along.  So then I did.  And his missus she was wonderful fashionable, but she acted just that nice and common with me as my own mother or my wife yet.  And that was the first time I have eat what the noos-papers calls a course dinner.  They was three courses.  First they was soup and nothin’ else settin’ on the table, and then a colored young lady come in with such a silver pan and such a flat, wide knife, and she scraped the crumbs off between every one of them three courses.  I felt awful funny.  I tell you they was tony.  I sayed to the missus, ’I hadn’t ought to of came here.  I’m not grand enough like yous’; but she sayed, ’It’s nothing of the kind, and you’re always welcome.’  Yes, she made herself that nice and common!” concluded the doctor.”  So you see I have saw high society.”

“Yes,” Miss Margaret assented.

“Say!” he suddenly put another question to her.  “Why don’t you get married?”

“Well,” she parried, “why don’t you?”

“I was married a’ready.  My wife she died fur me.  She was layin’ three months.  She got so sore layin’.  It was when we was stoppin’ over in Chicago yet.  That’s out in Illinois.  Then, when she died, —­och,” he said despondently, “there fur a while I didn’t take no interest in nothin’ no more.  When your wife dies, you don’t feel fur nothin’.  Yes, yes,” he sighed, “people have often troubles!  Oh,” he granted, “I went to see other women since.  But,” shaking his head in discouragement, “it didn’t go.  I think I’m better off if I stay single.  Yes, I stay single yet.  Well,” he reconsidered the question, his head on one side as he examined the fair lady before him, “if I could get one to suit me oncet.”

Miss Margaret grew alarmed.  But the doctor complacently continued, “When my wife died fur me I moved fu’ther west, and I got out as fur as Utah yet.  That’s where they have more ’n one wife.  I thought, now, that there was a poor practice!  One woman would do me.  Say!” he again fixed her with his eye.

“What?”

“Do you like your job?”

“Well,” she tentatively answered, “it’s not uninteresting.”

“Would you ruther keep your job than quit and get married?”

“That depends—­”

“Or,” quickly added the doctor, “you might jus keep on teachin’ the school after you was married, if you married some one livin’ right here.  Ain’t?  And if you kep’ on the right side of the School Board.  Unlest you’d ruther marry a town fellah and give up your job out here.  Some thinks the women out here has to work too hard; but if they married a man where [who] was well fixed,” he said, insinuatingly, “he could hire fur ’em [keep a servant].  Now, there’s me.  I’m well fixed.  I got money plenty.”

“You are very fortunate,” said Miss Margaret, sympathetically.

“Yes, ain’t?  And I ain’t got no one dependent on me, neither.  No brothers, no sisters, no—­wife—­” he looked at her with an ingratiating smile.  “Some says I’m better off that way, but sometimes I think different.  Sometimes I think I’d like a wife oncet.”