* * * * *
Great date of wedding was finally there. All furniture in Hon. Parlour was fixed like pews, so all could take set-down. Mrs Scott wep some more when she seen the chairs in tiers. All that home was dressed with greenish smilax like a beautiful salad. Hon. Bridebroom arrive with silk-pipe hat over his headache. Five or six best men emerge at front door wearing Floridora clothing. Bridal-maidens came in quantities looking like they wondered who would be next. Humouristical college friends walk up carrying footware, rice & other groceries. Several hack-loads of relatives was wheeled to door.
Silence.
A clergy man encroach at side door with Rev Mr. expression.
All was prepare. Yet something was not. Hon. Samule Scott rosh up to me with quiet craze.
“Togo,” he whasper, “where are Chas, the bridebroom?”
“I seen him in aunty-room off library quarrelling with his necktie,” I report.
Surely yes! He was there in aunty-room trying to correct the nervus behaviour of his collar button.
“This is the happiest day of my life,” report Hon. Chas when dishcovered, “How my shoes hurt me!”