“Um,” grunted Larry, beneath his breath. He was not particularly fond of lovely brides. He was shown into a large parlor, back of which was a drawing-room, and both apartments bore evidences of the previous night’s gayeties. Flowers were strewn about the floor, and there was rice over everything, while a number of old shoes were in one corner. “We haven’t cleaned up yet,” the girl said. “It was three o’clock when we got to bed.” She left Larry sitting alone in the darkened parlor, while she went about her duties. Larry sat there for half an hour. Then he began to get nervous. “I wonder if they’ve forgotten all about me,” thought the young reporter. “I’ve got something else to do besides sitting here waiting for someone to come, and tell me about a wedding.” He gave a loud cough, to attract the attention of anyone who might be within hearing. “Oh, how you frightened me!” exclaimed a voice, and a tall, dark, and exceedingly pretty girl came into the room. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” “I’m from the _Leader_,” said Larry, rising. “I came about the wedding.” “Oh, are you a real, truly reporter?” asked the girl. “Well, I think I can say I am,” replied Larry. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to see a real reporter,” the girl went on. “It must be a grand life. Think of seeing terrible fires, and big accidents, and writing about murders, and suicides, and battles, and sudden death, and—and all sorts of horrible, scary things! Oh, I would love to be a reporter, only papa will not hear of it. Did you ever see a drowned man?” “Several,” replied Larry, wondering what kind of a girl this was. “Oh, how lovely! And did you ever see a real, live, truly, really murderer?” “Well, I have seen men in the Tombs, accused of murder, though they had not been convicted yet.” “Oh, how perfectly fascinating! I must get papa to let me be a reporter.” “About this wedding,” began Larry. “Could you——” “Oh, don’t let’s talk about weddings,” interrupted the girl. “They’re horrid, stupid things. Tell me something about what you report. And to think I’ve seen a real reporter, just as I’ve always wanted to.” Larry agreed with her statement about weddings being stupid affairs, but he felt he was sent to get an account of one, and not to talk about himself. He was a little uncertain how to proceed. “Were you ever at a fire?” the girl went on. “Several times,” replied Larry. “What is the bride’s name, if you please?” “Did the walls fall and crush anyone?” asked Larry’s questioner, paying no attention to what he said. “I think so. Can you tell me the groom’s name?” “Were you ever in an explosion, Mr. Reporter?” “Well, close to one, once. Now about this wedding. I wish——” “Show me how you write stories,” the girl went on. “I think it must be perfectly lovely to write things for the paper? Do you think I could?”