"All right."
Mr. Baumann whipped out a portfolio full of documents, and as he searched them, philosophized: "A man ought alvays to carry a good marriage license. It might be he should need it in a hurry." He took a large iron seal from his side-pocket and stamped the paper and then, with fountain pen poised, pleaded: "Vat is the names, pleass?"
"Not so loud!" Mallory whispered.
Baumann put his finger to his nose, wisely: "I see, it is a confidential marriage. Sit down once."
When he had asked Mallory the necessary questions and taken his fee, he passed over the document by which the sovereign state of Nevada graciously permitted two souls to be made more or less one in the eyes of the law.
"Here you are," said Mr. Baumann. "Vit dat you can get married anyvere in Nevada."
Mallory realized that Nevada would be a thing of the past in a few hours more and he asked:
"It's no good in California?"
"Himmel, no. In California you bot' gotta go and be examined."
"Examined!" Mallory gasped, in dire alarm.