“Never you mind,” I says.
“Maybe we’d like to go along with you,” he says.
“Yes, you would!” says I. “Remember, boy, I was in love once myself, and I know I didn’t want no third parties hangin’ round.”
“But what can we do all day in this burg?” he says.
“They’s plenty to do,” I says. “You can go over there and set on them benches and watch the interurbans come in from South Bend and Niles, or you can hire a boat and go out for a sail, or you can fish for tarpons; or you can take a trolley over to Benton Harbor; or you can set on the beach and spoon. Nobody minds here—only be sure you don’t set in somebody’s lunch basket, because they say a garlic stain’s almost impossible to get out. And they’s another thing you might do,” I says: “this town’s one o’ these here Gretna Greens. You can get a marriage license in any delicatessen and the streetcar conductors is authorized to perform the ceremony.”
They didn’t blush when I pulled that; they turned pale, both o’ them, and I seen that I was goin’ to win, sure.
“Come on!” I says to the Missus. “We must be on our way.”
We left ’em before they could stop us and walked acrost the street and along through the park.
“Where are we headed?” ast the Wife.
“I don’t know,” I says; “but I don’t want to spoil their good time.”
“I don’t believe they’re havin’ a good time,” she says.
“How could they help it?” says I. “When two true lovers is left alone together, what more could they ast for?”