It was but proper that Sergeant Bagby, in his capacity as host pro tem, should do the necessary explaining.
“Well now, young lady and young gentleman,” he said, “I'm sorry to have to disappoint you—monstrous sorry—but, to tell you the truth, the Reverend Doctor Grundy ain't here; in fact, we ain't lookin' fur him back fur quite some time yit.”
“He is reunionisin' at the Pastime Skating Rink,” volunteered Mr. Bloomfield. “You'll have to wait a while, Sally Fannie.”
“Oh,” cried the girl, “we can't wait—we just can't wait! We were counting on him. And now—Oh, what shall we do, Harvey?”
Shrinking up against the railing she wrung her hands. The sergeant observed that she was a pretty little thing—small and shabby, but undeniably pretty, even in her present state of fright. There were tears in her eyes. The boy was trembling.
“You'd both better come in and take a cheer and ca'm yourselves,” said the sergeant. “Let's talk it over and see whut we-all kin do.”
“I tell you we can't wait!” gulped the girl, beginning to sob in earnest. “My stepfather is liable to come any minute! I'm as 'fraid as death of him. He's found out about the license—he's looking for us now to stop us. Oh, Harvey! Harvey! And this was our only chance!” She turned to her sweetheart and he put both his arms round her protectingly.
“I know that stepfather of yours,” put in Mr. Bloomfield, in a tone which indicated that he did not know much about him that was good or wholesome. “What's his main objection to you and this young fellow gittin' married? Ain't you both of age?”
“Yes, we are—both of us; but he don't want me to marry at all,” burst from the girl. “He just wants me to stay at home and slave and slave and slave! And he don't like Harvey—he hates him! Harvey hasn't been living here very long, and he pretends he don't know anything about Har-rr-r-vey.”
She stretched the last word out in a pitiful, long-drawn quaver.