"Quiet! Silence! Let him speak. Let's hear what he's got to say for himself."
Silence came, abruptly; the queer, awful, terrifying silence of a waiting crowd.
Into it Chester's voice cut, sharp and incisive.
"You fools. Get out of this and go home. Don't you know that you're heading for serious trouble—that you'll find yourselves in prison for this? Get out before it's too late. That's all I have to say."
"That's all he's got to say," the crowd took it up like a refrain. "That's all he's got to say, after all the trouble he's made!"
A suave, agreeable voice rose above the rest.
"That is not quite all he's got to say. There's something else. He's got to answer two plain questions. Number one: Are you certificated for marriage, Mr. Chester, or have you got mental deficiency in your family?"
There was an instant's pause. Then the Minister, looking down from the balcony at the upturned faces, white in the cold moonlight, said, clearly, "I am not certificated for marriage, owing to the cause you mention."
"Thank you," said the voice. "Have you all noted that, boys? The Minister of Brains is not certificated for marriage. He has deficiency in his family. Now, Mr. Chester, question number two, please. Am I correct in stating that you—got—married—last—August?"
"You are quite correct, Mr. Jenkins."