Mrs. Temple whispered to her husband: "Too bad you're not officiating, Walter." But he cautioned silence: "Hush! I'm on my vacation." The train was already coming into Ogden. Noises were multiplying and from the increase of passing objects, the speed seemed to be taking on a spurt. The bell was clamoring like a wedding chime in a steeple. Mrs. Wellington was on a chair fastening a ribbon round one of the lamps, and Mrs. Whitcomb was on another chair braiding the bell rope with withered orange branches, when Ashton, with kazoo all ready, called out: "What tune shall we play?" "I prefer the Mendelssohn Wedding March," said Mrs. Whitcomb, but Mrs. Wellington glared across at her. "I've always used the Lohengrin." "We'll play 'em both," said Dr. Temple, to make peace. Mrs. Fosdick murmured to her spouse: "The old Justice of the Peace didn't give us any music at all," and received in reward one of his most luscious-eyed looks, and a whisper: "But he gave us each other." "Now and then," she pouted. "But where are the bride and groom?" "Here they come--all ready," cried Ashton, and he beat time while some of the guests kazooed at Mendelssohn's and some Wagner's bridal melodies, and others just made a noise. Ira Lathrop and Anne Gattle, looking very sheepish, crowded through the narrow corridor and stood shamefacedly blushing like two school children about to sing a duet. The train jolted to a dead stop. The conductor called into the car: "Ogden! All out for Ogden!" and everybody stood watching and waiting. Ira, seeing Mallory, edged close and whispered: "Stand by to catch the minister on the rebound." But Mallory turned away. What use had he now for ministers? His plans were shattered ruins. The porter came flying in with two large bowls of rice, and shouting, "Here comes the 'possum--er posson." Seeing Marjorie, he said: "Shall I perambulate Mista Snoozleums?" She handed the porter her only friend and he hurried out, as a lean and professionally sad ascetic hurried in. He did not recognize his boyish enemy in the gray-haired, red-faced giant that greeted him, but he knew that voice and its gloating irony: "Hello, Charlie." He had always found that when Ira grinned and was cordial, some trouble was in store for him. He wondered what rock Ira held behind his back now, but he forced an uneasy cordiality: "And is this you, Ira? Well, well! It is yeahs since last we met. And you're just getting married. Is this the first time, Ira?" "First offense, Charlie." The levity shocked Selby, but a greater shock was in store, for when he inquired: "And who is the--er--happy--bride?" the triumphant Lathrop snickered: "I believe you used to know her. Anne Gattle." This was the rock behind Ira's back, and Selby took it with a wince: "Not--my old----" "The same. Anne, you remember, Charlie."