Part 13 (1/2)

”Yes, and then we can stop being friends.”

”My love--my friend!” They embraced in a most unfriendly manner.

An impatient yelp from the neglected dog-basket awoke them.

”Oh, Lord, we've brought Snoozleums.”

”Of course we have.” She took the dog from the prison, tucked him under her arm, and tried to compose her bridal face into a merely friendly countenance before they entered the car. But she must pause for one more kiss, one more of those bittersweet good-byes. And Mallory was nothing loath.

Hudson and Shaw were still glumly perplexed, when the porter returned in his white jacket.

”I bet they missed the train; all this work for nothing,” Hudson grumbled. But Shaw, seeing the porter, caught a gleam of hope, and asked anxiously:

”Say, porter, have you seen anything anywhere that looks like a freshly married pair?”

”Well,” and the porter rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand as he chuckled, ”well, they's a mighty lovin' couple out theah in the corridor.”

”That's them--they--it!”

Instantly everything was alive and in action. It was as if a bugle had shrilled in a dejected camp.

”Get ready!” Shaw commanded. ”Here's rice for everybody.”

”Everybody take an old shoe,” said Hudson. ”You can't miss in this narrow car.”

”There's a kazoo for everyone, too,” said Shaw, as the outstretched hands were equipped with wedding ammunition. ”Do you know the 'Wedding March'?”

”I ought to by this time,” said Mrs. Whitcomb.

Right into the tangle of preparation, old Ira Lathrop stalked, on his way back to his seat to get more cigars.

”Have some rice for the bridal couple?” said Ashton, offering him of his own double-handful.

But Lathrop brushed him aside with a romance-hater's growl.

”Watch out for your head, then,” cried Hudson, and Lathrop ducked just too late to escape a neck-filling, hair-filling shower. An old shoe took him a clip abaft the ear, and the old woman-hater dropped raging into the same berth where the spinster, Anne Gattle, was trying to dodge the same downpour.

Still there was enough of the shrapnel left to overwhelm the two young ”friends,” who marched into the aisle, trying to look indifferent and prepared for nothing on earth less than for a wedding charivari.

Mallory should have done better than to entrust his plans to fellows like Hudson and Shaw, whom he had known at West Point for diabolically joyous hazers and practical jokers. Even as he sputtered rice and winced from the impact of flying footgear, he was cursing himself as a double-dyed idiot for asking such men to engage his berth for him. He had a sudden instinct that they had doubtless bedecked his trunk and Marjorie's with white satin furbelows and ludicrous labels. But he could not shelter himself from the white sleet and the black thumps.

He could hardly shelter Marjorie, who cowered behind him and shrieked even louder than the romping tormentors.

When the a.s.sailants had exhausted the rice and shoes, they charged down the aisle for the privilege of kissing the bride. Mallory was dragged and bunted and shunted here and there, and he had to fight his way back to Marjorie with might and main. He was tugging and striking like a demon, and yelling, ”Stop it! stop it!”

Hudson took his punishment with uproarious good nature, laughing:

”Oh, shut up, or we'll kiss you!”