Her Weight in Gold. George Barr McCutcheon

absolution.

      He was therefore deserving of pity when he finally surrendered to the inevitable. How he cursed himself—(and his creditors)—as he set out to find the General on that bright spring day when every other living creature on earth seemed to be happy and free from care. Kismet!

      General Gamble was reading in a quiet corner of the Club. That is to say, he had the appearance of one reading. As a matter of fact, he had been watching Eddie's shy, uncertain evolutions for half an hour or more, and he chuckled inwardly. As many as ten times the victim strolled through the reading room, on the pretext of looking for some one. Something told the General that he was going to lose Martha.

      At last Eddie approached him. He came with the swift impetuosity of a man who has decided and is afraid to risk a reaction.

      "Hello, General," was his crisp greeting as he dropped into the chair which the astute old gentleman had placed, with premeditation, close to his own some time before. He went straight to the point. "I've been thinking over what you said the other day about Martha. Well, I'll marry her."

      "You!" exclaimed the General, simulating incredulity. "You!"

      "Yes. I'll be IT. How much does she really weigh?"

      "Are—are you in earnest, my boy?" cried the other. "Why, she'll be tickled to death!"

      "May I have her?"

      "God bless you—YES!"

      "I suppose I ought to go up and see her and—and tell her I love her," said Eddie lugubriously. "Or," with a fine inspiration, "perhaps you wouldn't mind telling her for me. I—"

      "Tell her yourself, you young rascal," cried the General in fine good humour, poking his prospective stepson-in-law in the ribs.

      Eddie winced. "You can do that to me now, but if you jab me in the ribs after I'm married I'll jab you in the eye."

      "Good! I like your spirit. Gad, I love a fighting-man! And now, my boy, it seems to me there's no sense in delaying matters. You have my consent. As a matter of form you ought to get Martha's. She'll take you, of course, but I—I suppose she would like the idea of being proposed to. They all do. I daresay you two can settle the point in a jiffy in some quiet nook up at the—But, there! I shall not offer suggestions to you in an affair of the heart, my son. Will you be up to see her this evening?"

      Eddie drew a long breath. "If—if she has no other engagement."

      "Engagement?" gasped the General, with popping eyes. "She hasn't sat up after eight o'clock in four years, except on Christmas Eve. You won't be disturbed; so come around."

      "Perhaps, to be sure of finding her up, I'd better come to dinner."

      "By all means. Stay as late as you like, too. She won't get sleepy to-night. Not a bit of it." He arose to depart.

      "Just a moment, General," said Eddie curtly. "We've got a few preliminaries to arrange before I commit myself. Here is a paper for you to sign. Business is business, you know, and this is the first really business-like thing I've ever done. Be good enough to read this paper very carefully before signing."

      General Gamble put on his glasses and read the brief, but ample contract which bound him to pay to Edward Peabody Ten Eyck, on the day that he was married to Martha Gamble, for better or for worse, an amount equivalent to the value of her weight in pure gold. He hesitated for one brief, dubious moment, then called for pen, ink, and paper. When these articles were brought to him, he deliberately drew up a second contract by which Edward Ten Eyck bound himself to wed Martha Gamble (and no other) on a day to be named by mutual consent at a later date—but not very much later, he was privately resolved.

      "Now," said he, "we'll each sign one. You sha'n't get the better of me, my boy."

      Each signed in the presence of two waiters, neither of whom knew the nature of the instruments.

      "Troy weight," said the General magnanimously. "She is a jewel, you know."

      "Certainly. It's stipulated in the contract—twenty-four carat gold. You said pure, you remember. You may have noticed that I take her at the prevailing market price of gold. It is now four cents a carat. Twenty-four carats in a pennyweight. That makes ninety-six cents per pennyweight. Twenty pennyweight in an ounce, and there we have nineteen dollars and twenty cents per ounce. We'll—we'll weigh her in by ounces."

      "That's reasonable. The price of gold isn't likely to fluctuate much."

      "It must be distinctly understood that you keep her well-fed from this day on, General. I won't have her fluctuating. She hasn't any silly notions about reducing, has she?"

      "My dear fellow, she poses as a Venus," cried the General. "Good! And here's another point: pardon me for suggesting it, but you understand that she's to weigh in—er—that is to say, her clothing is to be weighed in with her."

      "What's that?"

      "You heard what I said. She's to be settled for—dressed." "Good Lord, she isn't a chicken!"

      "Nobody said she was. It is fit and proper that her garments should be weighed with her. Hang it all, man, I'm marrying her clothes as well as anything else."

      "I will not agree to that. It's preposterous."

      "I don't mean her entire wardrobe. Just the going-away gown and hat. You can't very well ask her to weigh herself without any—But as gentlemen we need not pursue the matter any farther. You shall have your way about it."

      "She has a fine pair of scales in her bedroom. She weighs herself every night for her own gratification. I don't see why she can't do it once or twice for my sake."

      "But women are such dreadful liars about their own weight. She'll be sure to lop off fifteen or twenty pounds in the telling. Hang it, I want witnesses."

      The General assumed a look of distress. "Remember, sir, that you are speaking of your future wife. You'll have to take her word."

      Eddie slumped down in his chair, muttering something about niggardliness.

      "I suppose I'll have to concede the point." His eyes twinkled. "I say, it would be a horrible shock to you, General, if she were to refuse me to-night."

      "She sha—WON'T!" said the General, setting his jaw, but turning a shade paler. "She'll jump at the chance."

      Eddie sighed dismally. "Doesn't it really seem awful to you?"

      "Having you for a son-in-law? YES."

      "You know I'm only doing this because I want to set up in business for myself and need the money," explained the groom-elect in an effort to justify himself. "Oh, another little point. I'd almost forgotten it. I suppose it will be perfectly convenient for us to live with you for a year or two, until I—"

      "No!" thundered the General. "Not by a long shot! You go to housekeeping at once, do you understand?"

      "But think of her poor mother's feelings—"

      "Her mother has nothing whatever to do with it, sir. See here, we'll put that in the contract." He was visibly disturbed by the thought of what the oversight might have meant to him. "And now, when shall we have the wedding?"

      "Perhaps we'd better leave that to Martha."

      "We'll leave nothing to anybody."

      "She'll want to get a trousseau together and all that sort of thing. I'm ready to go through with it at any time, but you know what girls are." He was perspiring.

      "Yes," said the General with a reminiscent light in his eye. "I daresay they all enjoy a few weeks of courtship and love-making."

      Eddie gulped suddenly and then shot a quick, hunted look toward the buffet door.

      "Have a drink?" demanded the other abruptly. He had caught the sign of danger.

      They strolled into the buffet, arm-in-arm, one loving the world in general, the other hating everybody