"Any time, Shorty," says she. "You've been long enough about it, goodness knows."
Well say! You talk about your whirlwind finishes! I guess the crowd that was bunched there in the cabin, sayin' good night, must have thought I'd gone clear off my pivot, the way I comes down the stairs.
"Where's the bishop?" says I.
"Right here, my boy," says he. "What's the matter?"
"Matter?" says I. "Why, it's the greatest thing ever happened, and nobody to it. Folks," I says, "if the bishop is willin', and hasn't forgot his lines, there's goin' to be a weddin' take place right here in the main tent inside of fifteen minutes. Whoop-e-e!" I yells. "Sadie's said she would!"
That's the way we did it, too; and for a short notice affair, it was done in style; even to a weddin' march that someone feeds into the pianola and sets goin'. Pinckney digs up a ring, and the bishop gives us the nicest little off-hand talk you ever listens to. I blushes, and Sadie blushes, and Mrs. Twombley-Crane hugs both of us when it's over. Then I has the steward lug up a lot of cold bottles and I breaks a ten year drouth with a whole glass of fizz water.
Right in the middle of the toast the sailin' master shows up on the stairs and says: "We're just makin' the harbor, sir."
"Forget it, Bassett," says I. "I want you to drink to the health of Mrs. McCabe."
And when he hears what's been goin' on, he's the most flabbergasted sailor man I ever saw. After that we all has to go up and take a look at Newport and the warships, but they was all as black and quiet as a side street in Brooklyn after ten o'clock.
"Say, it's a shame all them folks ain't in on this," says I. "Bassett, can't you make a little noise, just to let 'em know we're celebratin'?"