]
At last it was evident that Seffy fully understood, and his father broke
into that discordant whistle once more.
"A gal that ken jump a six-rail fence--and wissout no running
start--don't let her git apast you!"
"Well, I'm going to set up with her to-night," said Seffy again, with a
huge ahem. And the tune his father whistled as he opened the door for
him sounded something like "I want to be an angel."
"But not to buy no pasture-land!" warned Seffy.
"Oach, no, of course not!" agreed his wily old father. "That's just one
of my durn jokes. But I expect I'll take the fence down to-morrow! Say,
Sef, you chust marry the gal. I'll take keer the fence!"
III
It took Seffy a long time to array himself as he had threatened. And
when it was all done you wouldn't have known him--you wouldn't have
cared to know him. For his fine yellow hair was changed to an ugly brown
by the patent hair-oil with which he had dressed it--and you would not
have liked its fragrance, I trust. Bergamot, I think it was. His fine
young throat was garroted within a starched standing collar, his feet
were pinched in creaking boots, his hands close-gauntleted in buckskin
gloves, and he altogether incomparable, uncomfortable, and triumphant.
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