Each morning Hon. Gladys Scott stand up with dressmaker and report with angry rage of girlish soprano, “You make me so nervus that screaming would seem pleasant!” Yet a few moments later she meet Hon. Chas Sweetberry in parlour & report with kitten words, “O Chas, I am so happy!” My brain feel cross-eyed to hear this duplex conversation. Friday night Hon. Tortoni, Italian caterman, back-up horse to front lawn and dump forth sifficient camp-chairs to furnish 1 complete picnic. Hon. Chas Sweetberry & 1 clergy man come later. They meet that Scott family, including Hon. Gladys, in parlour where they lock door and say a long ceremony, walking around & giving away several times. When Hon. Sweetberry come outside to smoke cigaret, I say to him with banzai in my voice, “Congratulations, Mr Sir!” “For what?” he dib. “For your marriage which just took place,” I encroach. “That wasn’t marriage,” he snork. “We was just practising.” I was confused. * * * * * Great date of wedding was finally there. All furniture in Hon. Parlour was fixed like pews, so all could take set-down. Mrs Scott wep some more when she seen the chairs in tiers. All that home was dressed with greenish smilax like a beautiful salad. Hon. Bridebroom arrive with silk-pipe hat over his headache. Five or six best men emerge at front door wearing Floridora clothing. Bridal-maidens came in quantities looking like they wondered who would be next. Humouristical college friends walk up carrying footware, rice & other groceries. Several hack-loads of relatives was wheeled to door. Silence. A clergy man encroach at side door with Rev Mr. expression. All was prepare. Yet something was not. Hon. Samule Scott rosh up to me with quiet craze. “Togo,” he whasper, “where are Chas, the bridebroom?” “I seen him in aunty-room off library quarrelling with his necktie,” I report. Surely yes! He was there in aunty-room trying to correct the nervus behaviour of his collar button. “This is the happiest day of my life,” report Hon. Chas when dishcovered, “How my shoes hurt me!” More silence. All that audience now set in parlour expectfully. Humouristical college friends pass rice-package amidst eyewinks peculiar to comedians. Several relatives appear quite affectionate. Music emerj from piano. Hon. Bridebroom with serene collar now pop forth and stand amid flowers at end of room. 2x2 now come Bridlemaidens expensively trimmed. Hon. Bride, artistically enwrapped in original Irish curtains, nextly step forth supporting her Father, who need this attention because of his quaker knees. “You are what you say you are?” require Hon. Clergy to Bride & Broom who now stand close by. They agree to this. “Has somebody here an objection to this gentleman?” ask Hon. Preach to audience. Everybody seem careless about replying. I was going to say how I thought he was too easily peeved about his neckties, but Hon. Preach neglected to wait.