"Why, Sol!--you're all dolled up something awful," he remarked.

"Well!--that's all right,--ain't it?"

"Sure thing,--go to it! Mr. Pederstone won't know you when you go up to congratulate him on his victory."

"Ya!--Mr. Pederstone win. I pretty dam-glad. But that ain't any reason why a fellow put on his fine clothes."

"What is it then, Sol? You might tell a fellow. You haven't come into a fortune?"

"No such dam-luck as that! But this my birthday, Phil. I been thirty-three years old to-day."

"Well now!--and I never knew." Phil reached and shook the big Swede's big hand heartily. "Leave it there,--many happy returns, old man!"

Sol's good nature bubbled over, but his face took on a clouded expression shortly after. "'Old man'!" he repeated. "Ya!--you right, Phil, thirty-three, I soon, be old man and I not been got married yet.

If I wait two-three year more, n.o.body have me."

"Oh, go on, you old pessimist. You're a young fellow yet. There's lot of time."

"Maybe--maybe not! Yesterday I think all pretty girl here soon be snapped up. Gretchen Gilder, she get married to that slob Peters last year, and Peters he no dam-good. I never ask Gretchen, or maybe I have her now. I think she been too good. Peters he ask her and get her right off. All them Johnson girls get married; five fine big girl too!

Now little Betty McCawl--you know little Irish girl--G.o.d bless me!--I just been crazy for her. She go get married day before yesterday to that other Swede, Jan Nansen."

Phil laughed at Sol's rueful countenance, as the latter recounted his matrimonial misses.

"Why!--you're too slow."

"You bet!--too dam-slow to catch myself getting out of bed. I scared to tell little Betty. Think maybe she not like to marry big Swede. Jan Nansen catch her first time. Jan Nansen,--land sakes!--I got more money, more sense, more hair on top my head, more clothes;--I could put Jan in my jean's pocket. Now little Betty, she Mrs. Jan Nansen.

Good night and G.o.d bless me!"

Sol spat among the hoof parings on the floor in his annoyance.

"Yes, too bad, Sol!" Phil put in.

"Yesterday I say too bad too! I got fine house. Build him all myself too. I got three room, with chairs, tables, fine stove, everything.

But I got n.o.body to keep it nice. Then that dam-fool of a fine little fellow Smiler, he going all plumb toboggan to h.e.l.l because n.o.body look after him all day long. Soon no more pretty girl be left, I say to myself:--'Sol Hanson, to-morrow your birthday. You get all dressed up and first girl you meet you ask her if she marry Sol Hanson.' See!

Maybe she not take me. All right! I keep on ask next one, then another one, till some girl take me. First one take me, she get me,--see!"

Phil raised his eyebrows in amus.e.m.e.nt, wondering what next he was about to hear.

"Well, last night I go down to Morrison's store and buy all these.

This morning, I have a fine bath, with fine baby soap. I get good shave, dress up swell like this, and come out about one o'clock. One o'clock all fine girl be going back to work after dinner,--see!

"I open front door and get down sidewalk, then come down street.

n.o.body there; n.o.body pa.s.s me. But when I get ten yard from corner Snider Avenue, who come slap-bang pretty near head-on collision:--big Martha Schmidt."

Phil yelled uproariously as Sol stood there the picture of seriousness.

"Ya,--you laugh. I laugh now,--ha, ha! You know Martha. She maybe thirty, maybe thirty-six. I don't know. She got one good eye; other eye all shot to h.e.l.l sometime. Just got one big tooth and he stick out good and plenty. Ugh!

"Well,--Sol Hanson every time he dam-good sport and do what he say he do. But I not meet her. I stop quick,--think for one little time,--then Martha cry, 'Hullo, Sol!' I never hear her. I turn quick, walk back all the same as if, maybe, I left my pipe home. I hurry into house, slam door hard and stand inside all shivers like one pound of head cheese waiting to get cold."

"And what then, Sol?"

"Oh,--after while, I peep out and see Martha go up the road. Little while more, all clear, I come out and have one more try.

"This time, first girl for sure, I say. Well--first girl happen to be black buck-n.i.g.g.e.r Ebenezer Jones's c.o.o.n kid, Dorothea. Dorothea she dam-fine girl all right. She say, 'Hullo, Kid,--nice day!'

"I look away down the street to corner. I make her think I not see her. I keep on going. She stand on sidewalk, one big fist on each hip and she look after me and say, 'Wal,--I like dat!'"

"Dirty trick!" remarked Phil.

"What? Holy Yiminy!--that fair enough. You don't expect decent white man ask n.i.g.g.e.r c.o.o.n wench to marry him. I maybe not mention it to myself when I make deal with myself, but no black n.i.g.g.e.r, no c.h.i.n.k or j.a.p for Sol Hanson. I keep single first,--you bet!"

"Quite right!" switched Phil. "Keep the colour scheme right anyway, Sol."

"Well--then white girl come along. 'By gosh!' I say.

"She Miss Gladys Tierney,--you know,--she work typewriter for Commercial Bank.

"I raise my hat and say, 'Good morning, lady!'

"She look me up and down. 'Are you crazy?' she ask. 'You bet!' I say, 'been crazy for you, sweetheart.'

"She sniff and give me regular freeze-out; leave me standing dam-fool foolish.

"Little while more, pretty fine Jane she come along. I see her sometimes; but not know her name.

"Big,--uhm! Work in steam laundry. She wear her sleeves all rolled up; walk very quick like she been going some place. She look good to me, so I step up in front. I take off my hat.

"'How do you do, Jane!'

"She look at me and laugh. Half-smile, half laugh,--you know, Phil. I guess, maybe, it all right. So I try, little bit more.

"'Very nice day, ma'am,' I say.

"'It is,' she say.

"'You look pretty nice!' I say next.

"'That's comforting!' she say next back, very quick.

"'This my birthday.' And I smile to her.

"'It is written all over you,' she answer.

"'You think I look pretty good to you, eh?' I ask.

"'Swell!' she say.