Pulp Fiction, 1882 · page 149 of 399
Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 149: what you’re looking at
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140 senses; I’ve just found them; that’s God’s truth. And you needn't try to think up some new fangled way of say- ing no, just to let me down easy, for I tell you now, I won't take no for an an- swer. Nobody ever said no to me since I was born, and I’m not going to let a slip of a girl like you begin it; not much! Besides, you’ve got to help me out of this scrape with the governor. It’ll never do in the world to let him know how we fooled him, so I’ve got to go abroad to mend my broken bones— and you have got to go with me. We’re accomplices in crime, and accomplices for life, Ned.” | “ Have you quite finished?” she in- quired, tossing her head and trying, with poor success, to speak coldly. “Finished? No, I’ve just begun. Just as soon as you say yes 7 “T thought you said that was not necessary.” “Well, it isn’t, only just for form’s sake, you know—but just as soon as you do say it, I'll send down word and have my yacht put into commission, and you and J, and Felix and Rita ” Rita?” “ Certainly. I wish you wouldn’t in- terrupt—you and I, and Felix and Rita, will have a quiet double wedding, and then we'll sail away. Ned, do you know that a man has to be educated in love, as well as in other things? The night before I started for Chicago, I went with Felix to see Rita, and blessed if I didn’t think I’d lost my heart, for sure; but it turned out to be only my head. Then, when I ran into you yesterday, I not only recognized the symptoms, but I knew the difference between the real thing and the imitation. Don’t you remember what I said about giving you a third of all that I possessed if you car- ried out the business yesterday? That’s what I meant, even then. I made up my mind on the spot.” “ Really, Mr. Millington “ There, now, I don’t want to hear a word of that ancient form about its being too sudden, taking time to con- bP THE ARGOSY. sider, and all that. It won’t do, and it’s all fol de rol, anyhow. Good lord, I’ve known you ever since you were a baby, and you’ve known me ever since I was ten years old, and you've pulled my hair, and put pins in my chair at school, What more do you want, I’d like to know! Ned, dear, I don’t know how to propose—I don’t know how to say things as they should be said—all that I know is that I want you. I want you for my wife—I want you to love me always, just as I love you, with all your heart and soul and strength.” He sprang towards her impetuously and put his arms around her, before she could prevent it or speak. ‘“ Ned, Ned!” he exclaimed, “ don’t you see that I am in earnest? I don’t know what I’ll do 1f you refuse me; grin and bear it, I suppose; but—you won't refuse, will you? Look up at me, Ned. Will you marry me? Will you be my wife? Say yes.” “You told me that was unneces- sary.” “ Never mind, say it—say it!”’ “I—I’d. rather not. You say it for me, Pike—for I mean it—just the same.” There was an interval then, during which neither of them said anything, but it was terminated at last by Milling- ton. ‘“ Ned,” he said, “ there is one thing that I do want to say.” “What is it?” she inquired, moving farther away from him. “God bless that cable car.” Then they both laughed, for at that moment the whole world was a laugh- ing matter. “TI must go, Pike,” she said, sud- denly, starting for the door. “Nonsense! Wait till Felix comes.” “No, indeed! I wouldn’t for the world.” A few moments later, when, from the window, Pike saw her disappear around a corner, he turned back into the room with a laugh of utter happiness, and ex- claimed: , COM ElOOO eo