Barlow sent a copy of Hardware Times over to me, in which he had marked an item about the State Convention the next week. I showed it to Betty and remarked:
"Of course I can't afford to go, because it comes the same day as we get married, and you remember, Betty, we agreed that we would not have our honeymoon until we had 'turned the corner'."
But to my surprise, she urged me to go. She said I might learn a whole lot there by meeting other hardware men and the new ideas I would get would help me very much under present conditions. So Betty and I decided to go to the Convention—and also make it our honeymoon. I telephoned Barlow and thanked him for sending the notice to me.
The salary adjustment I left until I should return. Even Jock agreed to that.
It was mighty nice of Barlow to send me that notice—and he a competitor of mine—or rather, I was a competitor of his, I guess!
Thirteen may be an unlucky number for some folks, but it sure was the lucky day for me, for on that day Betty and I were married. It was a quiet little home wedding. No one was there but mother, the two girls, and a cousin of Betty's from Hartford. Everything went off splendidly.
We went on the 12:30 train. Barlow went ahead of us on the 9:30. I extracted a promise from him before he left that he wouldn't tell anybody that we were just married, because if they did know they would tease the life out of us. He never let it out, and Betty and I had the time of our lives.
The only incident that marred the day for us happened at the station. We got there ten minutes before train time, and who was there, leaning against the newsstand, but Stigler. He made no attempt to come near us, but raised his hat and said in a loud, harsh voice, "Well, Mrs. Betty Black, so you've been and got married after all! I wish yer luck of your bargain!" He looked me up and down, turned his head, spat contemptuously on the floor, and stalked out of the station.
"Really, that man's 'narsty' temper will get him into trouble some of these days," so quoth I to Betty.
She, however, did not treat it as a joke. "Be careful of that man, boy dear," she said. "He really hates you. You know he—he—"