One of 'em's yours." Plank looked at him.
"I told you once that I'd let you know when to step up and say 'Good evening' didn't I ?" Plank continued to stare.
"Didn't I ?" repeated Mortimer peevishly, beginning to lose countenance.
"I don't understand you," said Plank, "and I don't think I want to understand you." "What do you mean ?" demanded Mortimer thickly; "don't you want to marry that girl!" but he shrank dismayed under the slow blaze that lighted Plank's blue eyes.
"All right," he stammered, struggling to his fat legs and instinctively backing away; "I thought you meant business.

I--what the devil do I care who you marry! It's the last time I try to do anything for you, or for anybody else! Mark that, my friend.

I've plenty to worry over; I've a lot to keep me busy without lying awake to figure out how to do kindnesses to old friends.

Damn this ingratitude, anyway!" Plank gazed at him for a moment; the anger in his face had died out.
"I am not ungrateful," he said.

"You may say almost anything except that, Leroy.