"Later," grinned Hedgerly. "Doubtless the brides are being very well kissed right now?"
"Thoroughly. I see your point."
"Yeah," drawled Hedgerly with a smile. "I've often thought it was a strange way to start a fidelitous wedlock—for the bride to go around bestowing kisses on all and sundry males."
"My point exactly. The man to kiss the bride is her new husband and none other. You are a discerning man, sir. I don't know—"
"Hedgerly. A not-too-distant relative of Peter Hedgerly."
"Then you know the names of all of them?"
"Known then for years."
"Fine. Then you can help me with their names. Mind?"
"Not at all," smiled Hedgerly. "They are Peter Hedgerly, Marie Baker, Anthony Graydon, and Joan Willson."
The parson put the names down and then turned to his desk. He picked up a rather heavy script-pen and started to write the names in on the dotted lines in a heavy ornate script. Finished, he arose and said: "Come on, Mr. Hedgerly." He waved the certificates, saying: "I like to write these things in with a heavy flourish. It seems to give them more color or taste or whatever than merely scrawling the names in common handwriting."