“Him and Mrs. Warren was married yesterday,” he said, proudly. “She’s a fine, fine lady!” And, touching the visor of his cap, he started the machine down the street.
Nancy leaned against a tree, too stunned for words. Then, as the humor of the whole situation flashed over her, she began to laugh, and laughed until, for lack of breath, she couldn’t laugh any longer.
“Why, it’s—the funniest thing—I’ve ever heard of, Phil!” she gasped.
“Well, it keeps the ‘shoals of money’ in the family!” said Phil, philosophically, and then he howled.
“Yes,” Nancy mused, still panting for breath, “mother once said that if I let him slip through my fingers some one else would snap him up before you could say ‘Jack Robinson.” Her eyes danced. “I wonder if anyone said ‘Jack Robinson’?”
“No, darling, there wasn’t time. But, at any rate, we’ve made our wedding call on our parents,” said Phil, gayly, “and I think we might as well go back to ‘little old New York’!”
Then, hand in hand, like two gladsome children, Mr. and Mrs. Philip Peirce retraced their steps toward the station.
