Then he removed the cutlery, heaved a deep sigh, and enquired: "Who at, ma ?" "What's that ?" "Who'll I go courtin' at ?" "Skim, you 'member in thet las' book we read, 'The Angel Maniac's Revenge,' there was a sayin' that fate knocks wunst on ev'ry man's door.
Well, fate's knockin' on your door." Skim listened, with a nervous glance toward the doorway.

Then he shook his head.
"All fool fancy, ma," he remarked.

"Don't ye go an' git no rumantic notions out'n books inter yer head." "Skim, am I a fool, er ain't I ?" "'Tain't fer me ter say, ma." "Fate's knockin', an' if you don't open to it, Skim, I'll wash my hands o' ye, an' ye kin jest starve to death." The boy looked disturbed.
"What's aggrivatin' of ye, then ?" he enquired, anxiously.
"A millionaire is come right under yer nose.

He's here in Millville, with three gals fer nieces thet's all got money to squander an's bound to hev more." Skim gave a low whistle.
"Ye don't mean fer me to be courtin' at them gals, do ye ?" he demanded.
"Why not?
Yer fambly's jest as respectible as any, 'cept thet yer Uncle Mell backslided after the last revival, an' went to a hoss race.

Yer young, an' yer han'some; an' there's three gals waitin' ready to be won by a bold wooer.