"Think of what his income affords him.

His early denials are paid for a thousand-fold." Martin looked at her sharply.
"There's one thing I'll bet you," he said, "and it is that Mr.Butler is nothin' gay-hearted now in his fat days.

He fed himself like that for years an' years, on a boy's stomach, an' I bet his stomach's none too good now for it." Her eyes dropped before his searching gaze.
"I'll bet he's got dyspepsia right now!" Martin challenged.
"Yes, he has," she confessed; "but--" "An' I bet," Martin dashed on, "that he's solemn an' serious as an old owl, an' doesn't care a rap for a good time, for all his thirty thousand a year.

An' I'll bet he's not particularly joyful at seein' others have a good time.

Ain't I right ?" She nodded her head in agreement, and hastened to explain:- "But he is not that type of man.