"Fine, fine, Elder," he answered. "Have you seen my new card?" He fumbled for one in his pocket and handed it over. Father Murray read it aloud:
JOHN JONATHAN STURGIS
Justice of the Peace
The only exclusive matrimonial magistrate.
Marriages solemnized promptly, accurately and eloquently.
Fees Moderate. Osculation extra.
Office at the Flour Mill, which has, however, no
connection with my smooth-running Matrimonial Mill.
P. S. My Anti-Blushine is guaranteed not to injure
the most delicate complexion.
"You'll be running the clergy clean out of business if this keeps up, Mr. Sturgis," laughed the priest. "But unless I am much mistaken, you didn't stop me only to show the card. There's something else? I see it on your face."
"I thought you would, Elder. Let us walk down the side street a bit and I'll tell you." The Justice became serious. "Elder, I suppose you know Roberts who keeps the Depot Hotel?"
"I know him only slightly."