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Beason--just
what would you do?"
Beason pondered the matter carefully. Mr. Beason applied the scientific
method to everything in life, and was not one to commit himself rashly.
"I think," he announced, weightily, "that I would tell them to go to a
hotel and stay there until they could look up their own house."
"But Mr. Beason," she rambled on, eyes twinkling--Georgia had decided
this young man needed "waking up"--"suppose you loved them both very
dearly--suppose they were positively the dearest people who ever walked
the earth--and that breaking your neck for them was the greatest pleasure
life could confer upon you--what would you do _then?_"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Beason, bluntly; "I never loved any one
that dearly."
"'Tis better to love and break one's neck,"--began Harry Wyman, who
aspired to the position of class poet.
"If you had ever known Ernestine and Karl,"--a tenderness creeping into
Georgia's voice--"you'd be _almost_ willing to hunt houses for them.
Almost, I say--for I doubt if any affection on earth should be put to the
house-hunting test.


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