“And what are you going to do with all this money you admit you owe me and decline to let me see the color of for a year?”
“Do you really want to know?” Matt queried.
“I'll take you to luncheon up at the Commercial Club if you'll tell me.”
Matt bent low and whispered in Cappy's ear:
“I'm going to marry your daughter. I'll have to furnish a home and—”
“No excuse!” said Cappy fiercely. “Son, all you've got to buy is the wedding ring and the license, and some clothes. I'm stuck for the wedding expenses and you don't have to furnish a home. My house is big enough for three, isn't it?”
“But this thing of living with your wife's relations—” Matt began mischievously, until he saw the pain and the loneliness in Cappy's kind old eyes. “Oh, well,” he hastened to add, “pull it off to suit yourself; but don't waste any time.”
“In-fer-nal young scoundrel!” Cappy cried happily. “We've waited too long already.”
Florry was a June bride, and the proudest and happiest man present, not excepting the groom, was old Cappy Ricks. He looked fully two inches taller as he walked up the church aisle, with Florry on his arm, and handed her over to Matt Peasley, waiting at the altar. And when the ceremony was over, and Matt had entered the waiting limousine with his bride, Cappy Ricks stood on the church steps among a dozen of his young friends from the wholesale lumber and shipping trade and made a brief oration.
“Take a good look at him, boys,” he said proudly. “You fresh young fellows will have to tangle with him one of these bright days; and when you do he'll make hell look like a summer holiday to you. See if he doesn't!”