Till he gums soft food and hobbles with a stick because the years have warped his back and his legs, Casey Ryan will keep that indefinable, bubbling optimism of spiritual youth.

So tell me all about him.

I want to know who has licked, so far; luxury or Casey Ryan." The Little Woman laughed and picked up the cards, evening their edges with sensitive fingers that had not been manicured so beautifully when first I saw them.
"Well-sir," she drawled, making one word of the two and failing to keep a little twitching from her lips, "I think it's been about a tie, so far.

As a husband--Casey's a darned good bachelor." Her chuckle robbed that statement of anything approaching criticism.

"Aside from his insisting on cooking breakfast every morning and feeding me in bed, forcing me to eat fried eggs and sour-dough hotcakes swimming in butter and honey--when I crave grapefruit and thin toast and one French lamb chop with a white paper frill on the handle and garnished with fresh parsley--he's the soul of consideration.