"Your
hero and my heroine have dropped into an intimacy."
"None but the Plucky deserve the Pretty," says Peter.
"But he seems to be such a fine fellow,--suppose she shouldn't"----
The pretty face looked anxious.
"Suppose _he_ shouldn't," Peter on the masculine behalf returned.
"He cannot help it: Mary is so noble,--and so charming, when she does
not disdain to be."
"I do not believe _she_ can help it. She cannot disdain Wade. He carries
too many guns for that. He is just as fine as she is. He was a hero when
I first knew him. His face does not show an atom of change; and you know
what Mr. Churm told us of his chivalric deeds elsewhere, and how he
tamed and reformed Dunderbunk. He is crystal grit, as crystalline and
gritty as he can be."
"Grit seems to be your symbol of the highest qualities. It certainly is
a better thing in man than in ice-cream. But, Peter, suppose this should
be a true love and should not run smooth?"
"What consequence is the smooth running, so long as there is strong
running and a final getting in neck and neck at the winning-post?"
"But," still pleaded the anxious soul,--having no anxieties of her
own, she was always suffering for others,--"he seems to be such a fine
fellow! and she is so hard to win!"
"Am I a fine fellow?"
"No,--horrid!"
"The truth,--or I let you tumble."
"Well, upon compulsion, I admit that you are."
"Then being a fine fellow does not diminish the said fellow's chances of
being blessed with a wife quite superfine.
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