"
Mr. Sharp shook his head and sighed again.
"You ain't talkative enough for Florrie, you know," said Mr. Culpepper,
regarding him.
"I can talk all right as a rule," retorted Mr. Sharp. "You ought to hear
me at the debating society; but you can't talk to a girl who doesn't talk
back."
"You're far too humble," continued the other. "You should cheek her a
bit now and then. Let 'er see you've got some spirit. Chaff 'er."
"That's no good," said the young man, restlessly. "I've tried it. Only
the other day I called her 'a saucy little kipper,' and the way she went
on, anybody would have thought I'd insulted her. Can't see a joke, I
s'pose. Where is she now?"
"Upstairs," was the reply.
"That's because I'm here," said Mr. Sharp. "If it had been Jack Butler
she'd have been down fast enough."
"It couldn't be him," said Mr. Culpepper, "because I won't have 'im in
the house. I've told him so; I've told her so, and I've told 'er aunt
so. And if she marries without my leave afore she's thirty she loses the
seven hundred pounds 'er father left her. You've got plenty of time--ten
years."
Mr. Sharp, sitting with his hands between his knees, gazed despondently
at the floor. "There's a lot o' girls would jump at me," he remarked.
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