“Mary, get ready. We’ll be going in a minute,” said he.
“No, you’ll not, Sorenson. I’ve taken a hand in your game. This girl says you’re going to marry her, is that right?” The other rolled his eyes upward and began to whistle a jig tune softly. “Well, this is the plan she and I’ve made. She’ll remain at the hotel to-night––as will you and I––and to-morrow we’ll drive to another county seat in my car and you’ll secure a licence there. Then you’ll go to a minister’s, where I’ll act as a witness, and the ceremony will be performed. Afterwards the pair of you can proceed to Los Angeles, or elsewhere as you please, on your wedding journey.”
“You’re quite a little planner, aren’t you?” the other jeered.
“That’s the arrangement if you agree.”
“I don’t agree.”
Mary Johnson, in whose eyes a light of hope had dawned during Weir’s low-toned statement, began nervously to bite her lip.
“Won’t you do it, Ed?” she asked, timidly.
“We’ll do as I planned, or nothing,” he stated. Then with sudden spite he continued, “You’re responsible for this mixup. What did you let this fellow in here for 36 while I was gone? Didn’t you have sense enough to keep your mouth shut?”
Steele halted him by a gesture.
“Don’t begin abusing her; you’re not married to her yet. I overheard your talk and guessed the low-lived, scoundrelly trick you proposed to play on her.”