It was Mr. Hooker, his face the picture of
bewilderment.
"Well, this beats me!" he ejaculated, leaning against the door jamb;
none of those at the altar heard his remark. He stood there listening
until the last words of the service which united two couples were
uttered. Then he turned sorrowfully away and started across the yard.
The sound of a wedding march played upon the wheezy cabinet organ by
Jim Carpenter followed him into the gloom; above the gasp of the organ
was lifted the unmistakable chatter of joyous voices.
As he passed through the gate a great vehicle rolled up and stopped.
It was drawn by two steaming horses, and the wagon lanterns told him
that it was the Somerset Hotel 'bus. "I'll ride back with 'em," he
thought comfortably.
Some one climbed down from the rear of the 'bus, assisted by two young
men in brass buttons. Mr. Hooker made way for a corpulent, puffing old
lady. She stopped in front of him and demanded in hot, strident tones:
"Where is my husband?"
"Your husband?" repeated Mr. Hooker, politely. "Madam, you can search
me. There's a whole churchful of husbands up there."
"You--you---" she sputtered.
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