“Samuel Parr, the well-known insurance agent,” said the _Despatch_, “who is to be married on the 29th to Miss Laura Nickels, received a telegram this morning from Mr. Baxter in which he states that he will be happy to officiate as best man at the ceremony which, instead of being solemnized at the home of the bride’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Nickels, on Grant Street, as originally planned, will take place in the Presbyterian Church at eight o’clock in the evening. Miss Jane Sage will be the maid-of-honor. Mr. Baxter’s many friends will be glad to welcome him to the hustling city of his nativity. He has succeeded well in his profession and has gone forward with remarkable rapidity for one of his years. Few young men have achieved, etc., etc.” The word that he was back in the United States and on his way to Rumley created quite a little excitement in town. It was the opinion of a good many people that he now stood a pretty fair chance of escaping the fate prescribed for him by the gypsy fortune-teller—provided, of course, he could be persuaded to remain in Rumley for the next five years, ten months, one week and five days. He arrived on the eleven-twenty from Chicago and was met at the depot by a delegation. Samuel Parr was master of ceremonies. “Stand back just a minute, will you?” Sammy commanded, addressing those in the front rank of the crowd. “Give his poor old father a chance to shake hands with him, can’t you? Just a minute, Mr. Sikes. That means you, too. Slow, now—_slow_, Mr. Link. This isn’t a funeral. Hello, Oliver! How’s the boy? Here’s your father—over this way. Never mind your suitcases. I’ll tend to ’em.” Young Oliver rushed up to his father, both hands extended. “Hello, dad! My old dad!” “I can’t believe my eyes—no, sir, I can’t,” cried the old man, quaveringly. He was wringing his son’s hand. “You’re back again, alive and sound. For nearly three years I’ve been sitting around waiting for a telegram or something telling me—” “You bet I’m alive,” broke in Oliver October, laying his arm over the old man’s shoulder and patting his back. “And you don’t look a day older than when I left, ’pon my soul, you don’t. It’s mighty good to see you, and it’s wonderful to be back in the old town again. Hello, Uncle Joe! Well, you see they haven’t hung me yet.” “And they ain’t going to if I can help it,” roared Mr. Sikes, pumping Oliver’s arm vigorously. “Not on your life! We got a few more years to go, and, by glory, we’re going to keep you right here in this town from now on. It’s all fixed, Oliver. We’ve got you the appointment of city civil engineer for Rumley, population five thousand and over, salary eighteen hundred a year. How’s that? The Common Council took action on it last Monday night, unanimous vote, politics be damned. All of the democrats voted for you. No opposition to—”