same kind you happen to think of. I hate to think what a state I'd
be in if I hadn't you. Don't imagine I'm not appreciating the
self-sacrifice."

Grant looked sheepish. But he felt that his shame was unwarranted,
that he really deserved Craig's tactless praise. So he observed
virtuously: "That's where we men are beyond the women. Now, if it
were one woman fixing up another, the chances are a thousand to
one she'd play the cat, and get clothes and give suggestions
that'd mean ruin."

It may not speak well for Arkwright's capacity for emotion, but it
certainly speaks well for his amiability and philanthropy that
doing these things for Craig had so far enlisted him that he was
almost as anxious as the fluttered and flustered bridegroom
himself for the success of the adventure. He wished he could go
along, in disguise, as a sort of valet and prime minister--to be
ever near Josh to coach and advise and guide him. For it seemed to
him that success or failure in this honeymooning hung upon the
success or failure of Craig in practising the precepts that for
Grant and his kind take precedence of the moral code. He spent an
earnest and exhausting hour in neatly and carefully writing out
the instructions, as Craig had requested. He performed this
service with a gravity that would move some people to the same
sort of laughter and wonder that is excited by the human doings of
a trained chimpanzee. But Craig--the wild man, the arch foe of
effeteness, the apostle of the simple life of yarn sock and
tallowed boot and homespun pants and hairy jaw--Craig accepted the
service with heartfelt thanks in his shaking voice and moist eye.