“I see no difficulty,” I assured him. “The charter specifies ‘died in honorable estate.’ Matrimony is an honorable estate. How she lived before that is between her and a gentler Judge than Bartholomew Storrs.”
“Give her a straight course and a fair judge and I’ll back Min to the limit,” said Mr. Hines so simply and loyally that no suggestion of irreverence could attach to him.
Nevertheless, doubt was mingled with determination in his florid face as he rang the bell. Bartholomew Storrs opened to us, himself. When he saw me, he hastily pocketed a Rhyming Dictionary. I introduced my companion, stating, by way of a favorable opening, that he was interested in memorial poetry.
“Very pleased,” said Bartholomew Storrs in his deep, lugubrious tones. “Bereaved husband?”
Mr. Hines nodded.
“Here’s a tasty thing I just completed,” continued the poet, and, extending a benignant hand toward the visitor he intoned nasally:
“Together we have lived our life
Till thou hast gone on high.
But I will come to thee, dear Wife,
In the sweet bye-and-bye.”
“That style five dollars,” he said.
“You’re on,” barked Mr. Hines. “I’ll take it.”
“To be published, I suppose, on the first anniversary of death. Shall I look after the insertion in the papers?” queried the obliging poet, who split an advertising agent’s percentage on memorial notices placed by him.