Yes, I want a wife."
"I don't see why you've neglected it so long."
"Too busy."
"And too--ambitious," suggested Arkwright.
"What do you mean?" demanded Josh, bristling.
"You thought you'd wait to marry until you were nearer your final
place in the world. Being cut out for a king, you know--why, you
thought you'd like a queen--one of those fine, delicate ladies
you'd read about."
Craig's laugh might have been confession, it might have been mere
amusement. "I want a wife that suits me," said he. "And I'll get
her."
It was Arkwright's turn to be amused. "There's one game you don't
in the least understand," said he.
"What game is that?"
"The woman game."
Craig shrugged contemptuously. "Marbles! Jacks!" Then he added:
"Now that I'm about ready to marry, I'll look the offerings over."
He clapped his friend on the shoulder. "And you can bet your last
cent I'll take what I want."
"Don't be too sure," jeered Arkwright.
The brougham was passing a street lamp that for an instant
illuminated Craig's face. Again Arkwright saw the expression that
made him feel extremely uncertain of the accuracy of his estimates
of the "wild man's" character.
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