“There’s aren’t many,” he said, “but of course there are some. The license court is the place to nail them.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” Tish demanded, “that there are traitors in this country who are getting married today?”
“There are,” said Charlie Sands, sitting down on the fire truck. “Even so, beloved aunt. They are getting married so they can claim exemption because of a dependent wife. And I’ll bet the orphan asylums are full of fellows trying to get ready-made families.”
Tish is a composed and self-restrained woman, but she spoke so distinctly of how she felt about such conduct that Charlie Murray, our grocer’s assistant, who has four children, did not so much as mention them when she made out his card.
“Of course,” Charlie Sands observed, “I don’t want to dictate to you, because you’re doing all that can be expected of you now. But if some one would go to the license court and tell those fellows a bit of wholesome truth, it might be valuable.”
“You do it, Lizzie,” Tish said.
“I? I never made a speech in my life, Tish Carberry, and you know it.”
“And I never before tried to get the truth from an idiot who says he is twenty-eight and has a daughter of eighteen! See here,” Tish said to a man in front of her, waving her pen and throwing a circle of ink about. “I’ll have you know that I represent the government today, and if you think you are being funny, you are not.”
Well, it turned out that he had married a widow with a child, but had a cork leg anyhow, so it made no difference. But Tish’s mind was not on her work. However, she was undecided until Charlie Sands said:
“By the way, I saw your friend Culver among the Cupid-chasers today. And this is his district. You’d better round him up.”