"Enter!" called out the former. As the group quickly passed through the doorway, a long figure climbed down from the fence hard by and ventured up to the portal. 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. "Am I too late? Support me, you fools," she cried to the two bell-boys. They hurried across the churchyard, Mr. Hooker following. At the doorway she stopped, glaring hard at the well-lighted interior. "Mr. Van Truder! Mr. Van Truder!" she called out angrily, but her joyful other half did not hear her. He was trying at that moment to organise the company into a wedding procession.
"Say," said Mr. Hooker, "maybe you'd better cough three times."