He asked Ray Faucett, butter-maker at the creamery and choir-singer in the church, and the village was flattered that out of the hundreds of intimates Elmer must have in the great world outside, he should have chosen one of their own boys.
They were married, during a half blizzard, by the district superintendent. They took the train for Zenith, to stop overnight on their way to Chicago.
Not till he was on the train, the shouting and the rice-showers over, did Elmer gasp to himself, looking at Cleo’s rather unchanging smile, “Oh, good God, I’ve gone and tied myself up, and I never can have any fun again!”
But he was very manly, gentlemanly in fact; he concealed his distaste for her and entertained her with an account of the beauties of Longfellow.
IV
Cleo looked tired, and toward the end of the journey, in the winter evening, with the gale desolate, she seemed scarce to be listening to his observations on graded Sunday School lessons, the treatment of corns, his triumphs at Sister Falconer’s meetings, and the inferiority of the Reverend Clyde Tippey.
“Well, you might pay a little attention to me, anyway!” he snarled.
“Oh, I’m sorry! I really was paying attention. I’m just tired—all the preparations for the wedding and everything.” She looked at him beseechingly. “Oh, Elmer, you must take care of me! I’m giving myself to you entirely—oh, completely.”
“Huh! So you look at it as a sacrifice to marry me, do you!”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it that way—”