Who is she?"
"She's Moira McTavish, and you're not to make love to her.
Understand? I can't have you snooping around this office after to-
day."
Mr. Ogilvy's eyes popped with interest. "Oh," he breathed. "You have
an eye to the main chance yourself have you? Have you proposed to the
lady as yet?"
"No, you idiot."
"Then I'll match you for her--or rather for the chance to propose
first." Buck produced a dollar and spun it in the air.
"Nothing doing, Buck. Spare yourself these agonizing suspicions. The
fact of the matter is that you give me a wonderful inspiration. I've
always been afraid Moira would fall in love with some ordinary fellow
around Sequoia--propinquity, you know--"
"You bet. Propinquity's the stuff. I'll stick around."
"--and I we been on the lookout for a fine man to marry her off to.
She's too wonderful for you, Buck, but in time you might learn to
live up to her."
"Duck! I'm liable to kiss you."
"Don't be too precipitate. Her father used to be our woods-boss. I
fired him for boozing."
"I wouldn't care two hoots if her dad was old Nick himself. I'm going
to marry her--if she'll have me. Ah, the glorious creature!" He waved
his long arms despairingly. "O Lord, send me a cure for freckles.
Bryce, you'll speak a kind word for me, won't you--sort of boom my
stock, eh? Be a good fellow.
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