Western Kansas World

The Week's Illustrated Story
Proposing on Easter

"She wasn't worth having anyway! No-not worth having anyway!". That was the way I mused that Easter afternoon as I walked down the street after seeing her, and that is still my way of thinking. About two days before that day I happened to drop in on poor Bifkins- poor because he is possessed of such a name as Bifkins, because he hasn't even the average stock of everyday brains and, furthermore, because he is a good natured, cheerful sort of idiot allround, easy to impose upon and gullible as the day is long. When I found Bifkins he was in an awful state, and as he welcomed me there were almost tears of joy in his eyes. "Say," said he, coming right to the point, as all born idiots do, "I want to propose to the loveliest girl-oh, well, I don't suppose you want to hear all about her-but I want to propose to her just the same, and I don't dare go and ask her outright, so I want to do it by mail, and, by Jove, I don't know what to say. Say, isn't writing a proposal blazes, eh? I've torn up about two reams of paper already, and I was just about to give her up when--you came in. You'll help me, won't you?" I chuckled softly to myself. Here was a chance for a lark. Poor Bifkins was so confiding he'd do almost anything a fellow suggested, and I knew he would. I'd written a letter of proposal that afternoon myself to Miss Helen Goldrox, and I knew the task was no easy one, but then imagine poor Bifkins wanting to do the same thing to some other fair maid! "Who is she, Bifkins?" I asked cynically. "Well," said Bifkins after thinking a minute, "I'd rather not tell her name, in case she won't have me. But, say, old chap, that's no reason for you not to help me with the letter, is it?" And he looked at me pleadingly. "Oh, not at all, not at all," I replied cheerfully. So I quietly chuckled to myself and began: "My dearest darling!" "Oh, say, isn't that putting it a trifile strong for a proposal?" inquired Bifkins, turning round. "Oh, no," said I carelessly; "the usual thing." So I went on, and Bifkins wrote: My Dearest Darling-Ever since I first beheld your sweet, angelic face, your- (Blue eyes, Bifkins? I thought so)-your laughing, sky blue eyes and tresses golden -(Of course she has red hair, Bifkins. You say golden will do? Aha!)-your tresses, golden as the sunlight on a stunning summer's day. I have thought of nothing else, of nothing, nothing else, but you. So you will see, darling, that my devotion knows no measure, but is boundless as the rippling, heaving summer sea. Darling, you don't know how it makes my heart beat when I think of your lovely azure orbs, resembling the sunny skies of Italy, and of those silky, waving, rippling tresses that form your crowning glory, for never was there woman wore such a crown as thine. Let me call you mine, dearest darling; let me call you mine. Write soon, and believe me, dearest darling, yours forever and forever. CHOLMONDY BIFKINS. When I had completed dictating this ludicrous gushing epistle I could hardly refrain from laughing aloud and naturally thought how different it was from the nice, sensible one I had dispatched to Miss Helen Goldrox that afternoon, wherein I had politely added that I would call for my answer in a couple of days-on the following Sunday, in fact, Easter Sunday. Bifkins looked the whole thing over and, looking at me dubiously, asked: "Say, old fellow, do you think this is all right? Isn't it just-er-just a trifile -er-strong?" It was all I could do to keep from laughing right at him, poor chap, but I restrained myself and said in an injured tone: "That's the usual thanks a fellow gets for helping a friend out!" "Oh, say, old chap, I didn't mean that," he said, apologizing profusely. "Of course it's all right if you say so" -this even more dubiously. It was a great lark, I thought, as I strolled home afterward, and when Easter Sunday came I spruced myself up to wait upon the sweet and wealthy Helen, to whom I thought, after I had been accepted, I might tell the farce, and, as she always exceedingly enjoyed a joke, after she had playfully chided me for being so cruel, I was quite sure to have her join me in a hearty laugh at poor Bifkins' expense. I made my way to the Goldrox mansion and, being admitted, waited in the parlor several minutes for Helen to come down. Having to wait was unquestionably a good sign, thought I. When she did come down she didn't act just as I'd hoped she would-that is, she didn't come nestling into my arms or anything of that sort. But then, thought I, Helen always was a sensible sort of girl and wasn't very apt to do that sort of thing. I confess I was slightly embarrassed for a moment, but recovering my self command I softly whispered: "Helen, I've come in person to urge what I asked in my letter of proposal and honestly, sincerely trust that you care sufficiently for me to trust your future happiness in my hands." Helen didn't speak for nearly a minute, when, sinking her voice, she said: "Believe me, Mr. Hardup, I am equally sincerely sorry, and I should have written you, only I didn't know how to put it, but the very next day after your proposal I received another, so passionate, so flattering, so-oh, so beautiful!" -and her eyes lit up-"that, though I have always had a most friendly regard for you, I could not resist the gentleman who wrote the other proposal's passionate, beautiful pleading, and I wrote him a letter accepting him by the return mail. I-I hope I haven't hurt you, and I'm awfully, awfully sorry, but then there are any number of other really nice girls, and-and-" and then no doubt fearing she might put her foot in it, Helen said no more. I sat half dazed for a moment, and then I summoned up enough courage to murmur, "May I ask the gentleman's name?" "Y-es," she answered timidly; "it's Mr. Bifkins." I was almost tempted to burst out laughing. I thought it must be a joke. But instead I merely murmured, "And do you care so much for him?" "Well, candidly," she replied, "I hadn't thought much about him before -before I received his proposal, but when I read that, so fiery, so kind, so full of burning admiration, my eyes seemed to open and read my heart aright, and in the enthusiasm and fervor of the moment I sent him my reply." After that I didn't stay to hear much more, and as I went down the front stairs I didn't know whether I ought to laugh or feel sorry.