"
Miss Minerva looked at him in fluttering consternation.
"Oh, no, not to-morrow," she protested; "possibly next year some
time."
"To-morrow," reiterated the Major, his white moustache bristling
with determination. Having at last asserted himself, he was
enjoying the situation immensely and was not going to give way
one inch.
"We will be married to-morrow and--"
"Next month," she suggested timidly.
"To-morrow, I tell you!"
"Next week," she answered.
"To-morrow! To-morrow! To-morrow!" cried the Major, happy as
a schoolboy.
"Next Sunday night after church," pleaded Miss Minerva.
"No, not next Sunday or Monday or Tuesday. We will be married
to-morrow," declared the dictatorial Confederate veteran.
Billy's aunt succumbed.
"Oh, Joseph," she said with almost a simper, "you are so
masterful."
"How would you like me for an uncle?" Miss Minerva's affianced
asked Billy a few minutes later.
"Fine an' dandy," was the answer, as the child wriggled himself
out of his aunt's embrace.
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