And so Gordon, in the capacity of Celia’s lawyer, went to the prison to talk with George Hayne, and that miserable man found no excuse for his sins when the searching talk was over. Gordon did not let the man know who he was, and merely made it understood that Celia was married, and that if he attempted to make her any further trouble the whole thing would be exposed and he would have to answer a grave charge of blackmail.
The days passed rapidly, and at last the New York matter for which Gordon’s presence was needed was finished, and he was free to sail away with his bride. On the morning of their departure Gordon’s voice rang out over the miles of telephone wires to his old chief in Washington: “I am married and am just starting on my wedding trip. Don’t you want to congratulate me?” And the old chief’s gruff voice sounded back:
“Good work, old man! Congratulations for you both. She may or may not be the best girl in all the world; I haven’t had a chance to see yet; but she’s a lucky girl, for she’s got the best man I know. Tell her that for me! Bless you both! I’m glad she’s going with you. It won’t be so lonesome.”
Gordon gave her the message that afternoon as they sailed straight into the sunshine of a new and beautiful life together.
“Dear,” he said, as he arranged her steamer rug more comfortably about her, “has it occurred to you that you are probably the only bride who ever married the best man at her wedding?”
Celia smiled appreciatively and after a minute replied mischievously:
“I suppose every bride thinks her husband is the best man.”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.