It transpired that he had
met his sweetheart, after Sabbath-school, and had sat beside her
during the regular service; after church he had accepted a warm
invitation from Mrs. Swiggart to join the family circle at dinner. At
table he had been privileged to supply Miss Birdie with many dainties:
pickled cucumbers, cup-custards, and root beer. He told us frankly
that he had marked nothing amiss with the young lady's appetite, but
that for his part he had made a sorry meal.

"My swaller," he said plaintively, "was in kinks before the boolyon
was served."

"You say," murmured Ajax, "that Miss Dutton's appetite was good?"

"It was just grand," replied the unhappy bard. "I never seen a lady
eat cup-custards with sech relish."

"We may infer, then," observed my brother, "that Miss Birdie is still
in happy ignorance of your condition; otherwise pity for you would
surely have tempered that craving for cup-custards."

"I dun'no', boys, about that. Me an' Miss Birdie sung out o' the same
hynm book, and--and I sort o' showed down. I reckon she knows what
ails Jasper Jasperson."

Ajax unwisely congratulated the lovelorn one upon this piece of news.
He said that the Rubicon was now passed, and retreat impossible. We
noted the absence of the rosebud, and Jasperson blushingly confessed
that he had presented the flower to his best girl after dinner, an act
of homage--so we presumed--in recognition of the lady's contempt of
danger in mixing pickled cucumbers with cup-custards.

"After that," said Jasperson, "I thought of the album, an' 'twas then
my feet begun to get cold. But I up and as't to see it, as bold as a
coyote in a hen-roost. Then she sez, kind of soft an' smilin': 'Why,
Mister Jasper, what d'you want to see my album for? you don't know my
folks.'"

"A glorious opportunity," said Ajax. "What did you reply, my buck?"

"Dog-gone it! I'd ought to have sailed right in, but I sot there,
shiverin', an' said:' Oh! because ...' jest like a school-girl. And I
could see that the answer made her squirm. She must ha' thought I was
the awflest fool. But to save me that's all I could stammer out--'Oh,
because ...'"

"Well," said Ajax, encouragingly, "the best of us may be confounded in
love and war."

"You do put heart into a man," murmured the little fellow. "Wal, sir,
we sot down an' looked through the album. And on the first page was
Miss Birdie's father, the mortician and arterialist."

"The what?" we exclaimed.

"Und