"What do you want me to do? Not to play clergyman?"
"No; but to get some one—a stranger to Cherrie and I—consequently a stranger in Speckport, who will tie the knot, and on whose discretion you may depend. You shall play witness."
Val put his hands in his pockets and mused.
"Well," he said, after a pause, "it's a horrid shame, but rather than that she should run off with you, without any excuse at all, I'll do it. How soon do you want the thing to come off?"
"As early as possible next week—say Tuesday night. It will be better after night, she won't be so apt to notice deficiencies."
Val mused again.
"Cherrie's a Methodist herself; at least, she sits under the teaching of the Reverend Mr. Drone, who used to be rather an admirer of hers before he got married. The chapel is in an out-of-the-way street, and I can feign an excuse for getting the key from Drone. Suppose it takes place there?"
Captain Cavendish grasped his hand, and gave it a friendly vise-like grasp.
"Val, you're a trump! You shall have my everlasting gratitude for this."
"Next Tuesday night, then," responded Val, taking the officer's rapture stoically enough. "And now I must beg you to leave me, for I have bushels of work on hand."