Larry’s first assignment when he reached the office was to get an account of a wedding that had occurred the night before. There are two assignments reporters hate to cover, weddings and obituaries, and Larry, in his brief experience, had come to feel much as did all other members of his profession about these things. But, just as a reporter never shrinks from danger in getting a story for his paper (if he is a real reporter, and not a pretended one), so none of them ever “kick,” at least to their city editor, when they get a disagreeable assignment. Larry started off to get the wedding, which was that of persons fairly well known, or else the _Leader_ never would have sent for it. Usually some of the women reporters on the paper attended to these society affairs, but at that time one of the women was away on vacation, and the other had double work to do, so the men had to help out, and much grumbling there was in consequence. “I don’t see what people want to get married for,” thought Larry, as he walked along the street where the house of the bride was located. “At least if they do, I don’t see why they want it in the papers. I’d rather cover an Anarchist meeting, than go where a lot of women will tell how the bride looked, and what she wore.” Thus talking to himself, Larry walked along, forgetting in his sense of injury to take note of the numbers of the houses. Suddenly his feet slid out from under him, and he went down on the sidewalk rather hard. He had stepped into a lot of rice that covered the flags for quite a distance, the small kernels making the stones very slippery. Larry picked himself up, and looked about to see if his undignified arrival in a sitting position had been observed by anyone. The street seemed deserted. “I guess this is where the wedding was,” he said. “This is some of the rice they threw at the bride for good luck. It was bad luck for me, though. Well, here goes,” and with that Larry walked up the steps, which were white with kernels, and rang the bell. To the girl who opened the door Larry stated his errand; that he had come to get an account of the wedding. “Come in,” said the servant, a good-natured-looking Irish girl. “Did you hurt yourself?” “You mean just now?” “Yes, when you fell,” and she began to laugh at Larry. “Oh,” said the reporter, blushing at the remembrance of his fall, “no, I guess not. Did you see me?” “I was at the window,” said the girl. “I couldn’t help laughing, you went down so sudden.” “Well, I didn’t get a letter or a telegram to say it was about to happen, that’s a fact,” admitted Larry, joining in the girl’s merriment. “Come in,” said the maid; “none of the family is up yet, but I guess Miss Clarice will soon be down, and she’ll give you all the particulars. It was a sweet wedding, to be sure, and the bride looked lovely.”