"Taller, yes," he admitted judiciously. "But he isn't half so big
around."
Sarah sat, fork poised, and gazed at him.
"Not half so big as who?" she neglected her sentence structure.
"Why--Dexter!" said Caleb. "Isn't that what we were talking about?"
"Maybe you were," Miss Sarah sniffed. "But I was not discussing
Dexter's height or girth either. I was referring to his daughter
and--and our boy, Stephen. I was going to ask you if you thought she
could be entirely disinterested in him. I don't believe any woman
forgets a man who has ever thought enough of her to fight for her."
"I suppose not," agreed Caleb humbly.
"And I was wondering, if that argument ever came up again--I'm
wondering if Archibald Wickersham wouldn't come out second best, just
as he did before?"
Then her brother understood. He threw back his head and laughed until
Sarah's face registered a trace of vexation.
"Sarah," he saluted her, "I'm a mere babe in arms when it comes to
finesse, in comparison with you. But since you have introduced the
subject I might remark that there are two individuals to be considered.
Maybe she might be--interested--as you so delicately phrase it. But
the boy--well, he's had one mighty pointed lesson, you know."
But there was no mirth in Sarah's eyes. She was most serious.
"That's the very thing which perplexes me," she confessed.
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