They stopped at a house not much farther down the street, and he rang the bell. It took a second ring to bring a head out of the open window upstairs.
“Well?” a sleepy voice demanded.
“Is this Squire Latimer?”
“Yes.”
“Come down. We want to get married.”
“Then why can’t you come at a reasonable hour?—consarn it!”
“Never mind that. There’s a good fee in it. Hurry up!”
Presently the door opened. “Come in. You can wait in the hall till I get a light.”
“No—I don’t want a light. We’ll step into this room, and be married at once,” MacQueen told him crisply.
“I don’t know about that. I’m not marrying folks that can’t be looked at.”