"What's the harm, anyway? You was sayin' yourself only the other day that it's a crime the way the young fellers in this town _never_ git married. Just set around the parlour stoves all winter holdin' hands, and on the front steps all summer----" "Like as not the gosh-derned cowards heard what I said and got up spunk enough to tackle matrimony," interrupted the venerable town marshal. "June seems to be a good month fer weddin's everywhere else in the world except right here in Tinkletown. The last one we had was in December, and that was two years ago. Annie Bliss and Joe Hodges. Now we're goin' to have 'em so thick and fast there won't be an unmarried man in the place, first thing you know. Up to date, me and Mrs. Crow have had seventeen printed invitations, and I don't know how many by word o' mouth. Fellers that never even done any courtin', so fer as I know, are gittin' married to girls that ain't had a beau since the Methodist revival in nineteen-ten. They all got religion then, male and female, and there's nothin' like religion to make people think they ought to have somebody to share their repentance with." "George Hoover's been goin' with Bessie Slayback ever sence McKinley beat Bryan in 'ninety-six. Swore he'd never git married till we had another democratic president. We've had one fer more'n four years and now he says he never dreamed there'd be another one, so he didn't think it was worth while to save up enough to git married on. You don't happen to have a bid there fer his weddin', have you, Anderson? That would be too much to expect, I guess." "How old do you make out Bessie is, Alf?" asked Mr. Crow, shuffling the envelopes until he found the one he wanted. He removed the card, printed neatly by the _Tinkletown Banner_ Press, and squinted at it through his spectacles. "Forty-nine," said Alf, promptly. "Twenty-sixth of last January." "Well, poor old George'll have to do his settin' in Sofer's store after the third o' June," said the other, chuckling. "She has threw him over, as my daughter would say." "What's that?" "Yep. Bessie's goin' to be married next Sunday to Charlie Smith." "Fer the Lord's sake!" gasped Alf. "How c'n that be? Charlie's got a wife an' three grown children." "'Tain't old Charlie. It's young Charlie," said Anderson, looking hard at the invitation. "'Charles Elias Smith, Junior,' it says." Alf was speechless. He merely stared while the town marshal made mental calculations. "She's twenty-six years older'n he is, Alf." "There must be some mistake," muttered Alf. "Not if you're sure she's forty-nine," said Anderson. "Subtract twenty-three from forty-nine and you have twenty-six, with nothin' to carry. Besides, old Charlie's middle name is Bill." "Well, I'll be dog-goned," said Alf, in a weak voice. "And here's another'n'," said Anderson, passing a card to his companion.