"Paugh!" He set down the pot and turned upon Sandy.
"Get your nose out of that book a minute and talk!" he commanded in a tone beseeching for all its surly growl.

"You say I got married.

I kinda recollect something of the kind.

What I want to know is who's the lady?
And what did I do it for ?" He sat down, leaned his bruised head upon his palms, and spat morosely into the stove-hearth.

"Lordy me," he grumbled.
"I don't know any lady well enough to marry her--and I sure can't think of any female lady that would marry me--not even by proxy!" Sandy closed the book upon a forefinger and regarded Ford with that blend of pity, amusement, and tolerance which is so absolutely unbearable to one who has behaved foolishly and knows it.