"Woman-hater?" laughed Ira. "It's the old story. I'm going to follow Mallory's example--marriage." "I hope you succeed," said Mallory. "Wherever did you pick up the bride?" said Wedgewood, mellowing with the long glass in his hand. "Brides are easy," said Mallory, with surprising cynicism. "Where do you get the parson?" "Hang the parson," Wedgewood repeated, "Who's the gel?" "I'll bet I know who she is," Ashton interposed; "it's that nectarine of a damsel who got on at Green River." "Not the same!" Lathrop roared. "I found my bride blooming here all the while. Girl I used to spark back in Brattleboro, Vermont. I've been vowing for years that I'd live and die an old maid. I've kept my head out of the noose all this time--till I struck this train and met up with Anne. We got to talking over old times--waking up old sentiments. She got on my nerves. I got on hers. Finally I said, 'Aw, hell, let's get married. Save price of one stateroom to China anyway.' She says, 'Damned if I don't!'--or words to that effect." Mallory broke in with feverish interest: "But you said you were going to get married on this train." "Nothing easier. Here's How!" and he raised his glass, but Mallory hauled it down to demand: "How? that's what I want to know. How are you going to get married on this parsonless express. Have you got a little minister in your suitcase?" Ira beamed with added pride as he explained: "Well, you see, when I used to court Anne I had a rival--Charlie Selby his name was. I thought he cut me out, but he became a clergyman in Utah--Oh, Charlie! I telegraphed him that I was passing through Ogden, and would he come down to the train and marry me to a charming lady. He always wanted to marry Anne. I thought it would be a durned good joke to let him marry her--to me." "D-did he accept?" Mallory asked, excitedly, "is he coming?" "He is--he did--here's his telegram," said Ira. "He brings the license and the ring." He passed it over, and as Mallory read it a look of hope spread across his face. But Ira was saying: "We're going to have the wedding obsequies right here in this car. You're all invited. Will you come?" There was a general yell of acceptance and Ashton began to sing, "There was I waiting at the church." Then he led a sort of Indian war-dance round the next victim of the matrimonial stake. At the end of the hullaballoo all the men charged their glasses, and drained them with an uproarious "How!" Poor Doctor Temple had taken luxurious delight in the success of his disguise and in the prospect of watching some other clergyman working while he rested. He joined the dance as gaily, if not as gracefully, as any of the rest, and in a final triumph of recklessness, he tossed off a bumper of straight whisky.