“Don’t you ‘no–no’ me, Emmy Morton,” roared the big man, pulling her to his side. “Girl–girl, what do we care?” He gave her a resounding kiss and gazed proudly around and exclaimed, “Ruthie, run and call up the Times and give ’em the news. Martha, call up old man Adams–and I’ll take a bell to-morrow and go calling it up and down 425 Market Street. Then, Cap, you tell Mrs. Herdicker. This is the big news.” As he spoke he was gathering the amazed Ruth and Martha under his wing and kissing them, crying, “Take that one for luck–and that to grow on.” Then he let out his laugh. But in vain did Emma Morton try to squirm from his grasp; in vain she tried to quiet his clatter. “Say, girls, cluster around Brother George’s knee–or knees–and let’s plan the wedding.”
“You are going to have a wedding, aren’t you, Emma?” burst in Ruth, and George cut in:
“Wedding–why, this is to be the big show–the laughing show, all the wonders of the world and marvels of the deep under one canvas. Why, girls–”
“Well, Emma, you’ve just got to wear a veil,” laughed Martha hysterically.
“Veil nothing–shame on you, Martha Morton. Why, George hasn’t asked–”
“Now ain’t it the truth!” roared Brotherton. “Why veil! Veil?” he exclaimed. “She’s going to wear seven veils and forty flower girls–forty–count ’em–forty! And Morty Sands best man–”
“Keep still, George,” interrupted Ruth. “Now, Emma, when–when, I say, are you going to resign your school?”
Mr. Brotherton gave the youngest and most practical Miss Morton a look of quick intelligence. “Don’t you fret; Ruthie, I’m hog tied by the silken skein of love. She’s going to resign her school to-morrow.”
“Indeed I am not, George Brotherton–and if you people don’t hush–”
But Mr. Brotherton interrupted the bride-to-be, incidentally kissing her by way of punctuation, and boomed on in his poster tone, “Morty Sands best man with his gym class from South Harvey doing ground and lofty tumbling up and down the aisles in pink tights. Doc Jim in linen pants whistling the Wedding March to Kenyon Adams’s violin obligato, with the General hitting the bones at the organ! The greatest show on earth and the baby elephant in evening clothes prancing down the aisle like the behemoth of holy writ! Well, say–say, I tell you!”