There, in short, was everything
arranged just as he pictured it; and all that was needed to make the
picture real was for him to propose and Mamie to accept him.
It was the disturbing thought that the second condition did not
necessarily follow on to the first that had kept Steve from taking the
plunge for the last two years. Unlike the hero of the poem, he feared
his fate too much to put it to the touch, to win or lose it all.
Presently the silence began to oppress Steve. Mamie had her needlework,
and that apparently served her in lieu of conversation; but Steve had
nothing to occupy him, and he began to grow restless. He always
despised himself thoroughly for his feebleness on these occasions; and
he despised himself now. He determined to make a big effort.
"Mamie!" he said.
As he was nervous and had been silent so long that his vocal cords had
gone off duty under the impression that their day's work was over, the
word came out of him like a husky gunshot. Mamie started, and the White
Hope, who had been sleeping peacefully, stirred and muttered.
"S-sh!" hissed Mamie.
Steve collapsed with the feeling that it was not his lucky night, while
Mamie bent anxiously over the cot. The sleeper, however, did not wake.
He gurgled, gave a sigh, then resumed his interrupted repose. Mamie
returned to her seat.
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