"Well, you see, when I used to court Anne I had a rival—Charlie Selby his name was. I thought he cut me out, but he became a clergyman in Utah—Oh, Charlie! I telegraphed him that I was passing through Ogden, and would he come down to the train and marry me to a charming lady. He always wanted to marry Anne. I thought it would be a durned good joke to let him marry her—to me."
"D-did he accept?" Mallory asked, excitedly, "is he coming?"
"He is—he did—here's his telegram," said Ira. "He brings the license and the ring." He passed it over, and as Mallory read it a look of hope spread across his face. But Ira was saying: "We're going to have the wedding obsequies right here in this car. You're all invited. Will you come?"
There was a general yell of acceptance and Ashton began to sing, "There was I waiting at the church." Then he led a sort of Indian war-dance round the next victim of the matrimonial stake. At the end of the hullaballoo all the men charged their glasses, and drained them with an uproarious "How!"
Poor Doctor Temple had taken luxurious delight in the success of his disguise and in the prospect of watching some other clergyman working while he rested. He joined the dance as gaily, if not as gracefully, as any of the rest, and in a final triumph of recklessness, he tossed off a bumper of straight whisky.
Instantly his "How!" changed to "Wow!" and then his throat clamped fast with a terrific spasm that flung the tears from his eyes. He bent and writhed in a silent paroxysm till he was pounded and shaken back to life and water poured down his throat to reopen a passage.
The others thought he had merely choked and made no comment other than sympathy. They could not have dreamed that the old "physician" was as ignorant of the taste as of the vigor of pure spirits.
After a riot of handshaking and good wishes, Ira was permitted to escape with his life. Mallory followed him to the vestibule, where he caught him by the sleeve with an anxious:
"Excuse me."
"Well, my boy——"