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Show SVAJM mm 1 1 ra-aJ 1 , !.-, r w :i;vA'.vfi w t hm nr mm am BBMM i ill ll iiiiiSSMMiMMii iiii n-ir- -!. j$y' more to be avoided th&n tae dentist's chair, or j P ones income tax." And Mm that j not have hitd any bt- ienso Uum 10 loU1 6 L laR lher WllU "' M K latwta ttUin him off. tdfoni." says ' ' -v-'"L .'pu. aJ or! 01 -jjt no. a 1 w": 'a ' 1 " ' IA "11 1 lliM'r- s'K"r'-' 1 ; lvUldn 1 ;" s h0- ' v v ?:w ""' LjThUxe I hunch I shouldn't, ana "vin' th h-.iti. l-. Mr .mos : ,i.lw and Jlwi.t-s his T.-, thin. ! :m ' ' w"wr alibi than tfctt before 1 let Bedford." sas i "Thor y,..s YUi 1 kind ol look pride m Ih-JJL Ih-JJL "of thoo Vil-trynything-once LvU to shoot it on d -Tlv so'ue smart guy came back ". T(h- How about broiled crow yjbwn off that bright little sayln ?'rr:". "But this is hardly a JSTdj Shorty." ha oe tftjTr,.-' says I. "And V.: in for some odd acts ;, iy Once I hi-'pcd p'.-iv ' "W !rnanf wItn :l toothache An-tiae An-tiae I went with a friend to m t jw wven he'il had word that Jfrfhlt had died aboard ar,l ha : semetlv'r.g. named .Tack and J hipped to him. Hi v ies. but they turned out to be a HJfste-vear-oM twin T :v:V EL' bents and umpired b:'.'.l gaWs Efnvd two terms as cha-.riv.a:- i..-omm!itee i..-omm!itee out at our Y.ch: v J3it c'ub. And once I was judse at Ifitr'stw. But up to ite 1 ve du -ked Man usher at a ohuroh wddn" s iy. Stever Bedford. That would road ETja the shunts rext dav: -The were Percy Stuyvesant. Occ v SErfct Refr'naM Twombley and Pro-Lav Pro-Lav Shorty MeCabo. h . Now. KnV f anruroen? dor.'t pet r.-v-Lm trith Bedford at all. He ain't ger-pirrid. ger-pirrid. he says, jut t make an lSal-T the society column, and he don't i who-p what the r?.pc: p:-Mt p:-Mt it or don't print. Tta know why Tm ask:r.: Wrrr 'ksavs he. "If it hadn't bee:, for fer voa dM. D?ie and I nvrht not U, Veil. Td be a poor prune not nnt'yoa in on the wedding, wouldn't neipeet I was tellin you about Ped-H Ped-H and the little oueen from Ken-Car Ken-Car whose Aunt Alicia was so sore op. El-ben he first came to Kockhurs; be-Em be-Em he'd inherited a chair factory in Esor.. and had failed to have Vs ped!-t ped!-t printed on his ca'Iin' cards. And lr. when him and D'xie Fattn had b hr each other. Bedford rem em -fc :3 creat-great-yrardfatber by the Ck of Ammi Ruhannah. whose mon-fehe'd mon-fehe'd rrom'sed to wish onto his son. jfci ever had one. 'Which was where he fc rw the d'stress siynal and I helps him out by nttln' the facts beforo Aunt Alicia. Inclualn' the history atuff and a skot q h Of the family OMt of arm, t-ouiso, liedford waa au euay winner after that, and now it a nunolv u caso of oiu' throiitfh the WUt-thou-act. "I t'nnk 1 cot your Idea, nedford," as L "and It bur dOM you credit. But I d lika to have read into the record here and now that any little thing 1 might have dene lowarda easin' you twu onto the matrimonial chute you were pt-nVcih wo.o muo to in advance. Bo lot a let it rule at that." "Dixie will be IUappolnted If you don't accept." mi? a ho. "Shea counting on on, too." "That makes It moro complicated, then," Hayg t "She stands prett high with mo. Dixie does. So I'll tell you; I II hao to talk with my friend. IMnckney. and If he thinks I can (juultl'y for the part. I'll let you know." Ho ought to be u judge, rincknoy. That's his long .suit, church woddln's. I couldn't say how many time he's f lg-( lg-( ured aa usher or best timi) at thcitT af-fa.rs. af-fa.rs. but he s been at it ever sine I knew htm. and what he don't know about this hymen business shouldn't be w orth writln' down. So when ho drifts Into the physical culture studio next day 1 tackles him with the proposition. "H.nekney." says I. "how about this weddin' usher act? What aro the lines?" "Why." says he. glvln' me one of them eut-np glances of h . "I should say that tho lines of an usher were out In plMJh ant places, if 1 may quote from a volumo that "Ah, ring the gong on that ytiiff' says L "I could read w hat Ham Mabio or EI le v heeler o r Robert Cham berfl la s to say about bridal bees myself. I'm tappiu' you for first-hand information. What is it thai au usher has to do at a weddin' ?" "Well." says TMneknoy, "chiefly and principally ho ushers tho wedding guests int the pews." "Oh, yes," says I. "Shows 'em where to sit. Sounds simple enough." "It la, too." says Plnckney, "provided he remembers that relatives and near friends of the groom are all to be placed on one side, those of the bride on the other, and doesn't get 'em mixed up. So he must know in advance who's who, for if he mistakes dear old Aunt Martha for a distant cousin and wedges her in between be-tween a former nurse and the chauffeur's wife, he hardly deserves the gold match box which h found under his plato at tho groom s farewell dinner." T begins to scratch my ear at tkat. "You could make some bad breaks that way. couldn't you?" says I. "Don't have seat checks or anything like that? "Hardly," says Btnckney. "It is something some-thing like this: One sees a stout, purple-faced purple-faced aid lady approaching, a tittle puffy from having forged her way through the crush fan the vestibule. One recalls that this Is Mrs. Maitland K. Vomeroy, widow of a former business partner of the bride's father, and the one who sent that expensive thing from Tiffany's. So one advances, bows gracefully, turns to get on her left side, extends one s r'ght arm. crooked, and murmurs: 'Ah. Mrs. Pome-roy! Pome-roy! May I show you to a seat?' That is. if one doesn't get it twisted on the tongue and ask: 'May I sew you to a sheet?" as has been dene, you know." "Say. that would be me." says L 'Td be sure to sew 'em to a sheet. Anything else an usher does?" "Why. that's merelv a beginning." says . . i "Do we Infer, '' asks Plnckney, "that you dmappiuve of church weddings?" Gany spreads out his chubby palms and ibrnga his fat fchoulderii. "If they could be conducted sanely, simply, I say that a religious edifice was an appropriate appro-priate place for what should be a sacred ceremony." says he. "But when they arc-staged arc-staged as barbaric spectacles, when you load them down with the accumulated bad taats of generations ugh' One shudders shud-ders at the thought." Course, by that lime I'm gawp in' at him more or less jarred. "Say, Carry." ays f, "how do you get that way? You listen like a parlor b . thai i. found a soap box." But Pinckney only laughs easy. "One may always depend upon Garry to shudder, shud-der, at the established order." says he. 'Tt is the studio mind declaring its preeminence pre-eminence over the common herd. But why so bitter at tht particular rite, Garry? You haven't been caught in the fowler's snare, arid I seem to reoall more than one occasion when you have assisted assist-ed at church weddings yourself. Besides, your gaudy generalities may bo somewhat some-what alarming to Mr. Ames, who is on the verge of matrimony, au one might say." "To put It plain." I adds, "let's get down to brass tacks. If Bedford ts standin' on a trap door or anything, why not slip him tHi details? Just what's wrong with get tfr?.. married in cnurch?" Garry finishes his demt-tassr- and lights a fresh clgaret. "So far as Mr. Ames fs concerned," says he. "It Is too late tor warnings. Besides, his ' keener senses are numbed by the sweet folly in his brain. He has been told often what a lucky man he is that he can believe nothing noth-ing e'-e. As for Pinckney, he 13 a worshipper wor-shipper of conventions. He has a rubber-stamp rubber-stamp soul. But you. Shorty, have an untrammeled ego; you can see with a fresh eye." s "AH right, all right"' says I. "You're a great little describer. even if your WOrBg don't make senso. But havin got that off our chest, quit the fancy footwork foot-work and steam in a punch- "Why does a church weddin? give you chills down the spine?" "Simply because it s apt to be such a ghastly affair." says Garry. "And as commonly practiced, it can hardly be otherw is?. Iook. you. Professor: " Two simple-minded, inexperienced young people peo-ple decide to be married. They set a date, a month off, rerhaps two. The invitations invita-tions go out. The die is cast. They have committed themselves into the hands of capricious Fate. For, once having named the dav. there is no changing. Such of the invited guests as choose to com1, will he there. Probably the church will be packed. The show must go on. "But just try for yourself some time what it means to say that at 3 p. m. on the second Tuesday of next month you will be at a certain place fit and ready and looking your best. You might, and you might not. In the case of other semipubtic affairs, custom is not so inflexible. in-flexible. Th-a condemned criminal, for example, may get a stay at the lat moment. mo-ment. But if he doesn't, he has no .worry ns to whether or not he will be on hand. He's sure to be there. And he can depend de-pend on the sher'ff. too. Neither priest nor tumkev will fail h:m. He knows that the thing will go off smoothly, without a hitch. Isn't that so?" "I cou-dn't deny it." says I. "I've been married oftener'n I've been hanged, by one." "And now." goes on Garry, "consider Hon in the least." Insist Garry. "An of thee tragic things may occur, havo occurred. Pinckney, you rtrnember how Billy Dean almost forgot about the wedding wed-ding license and was scorching back with i It when be wan arrested for speeding" f And It was two hours before ho could ralM the cash ball, with several hundred people waiting in the church and the bride's mother In hysterica. And how many times I wonder, have the weddfnr rings been mislaid, packed in the golng- ; away bag, nr left on the car heat? f heard one groom who was ao fearful of I making this mistake that he tucked ring iu either toe of hfs dress shoes, and had to sit down on the altar slept, in full viow of everyone, and fish them out. "AU silly tommyrot. of course, but very real tragedies Sd are the little Ills and ails that come unbidden at such times, listing not who they may light on. I've seen a bride with the snuffles who wiped her red-tipped nose between every 'I wlit.' I've seen them limp down the aisle, from a sprained ankle, acquired that very morning. And a groom with a perfectly outraglous boil on his neck. Couldn't help It. poor things. The spectacle spec-tacle had been arranged. The show must go on." "You must admit, though. Garry." puts in Pinckney. "that very often nothing of the kind happens; everyone shows up sound and well, and the show, as you call it, does go on." "Even so." says Garry-, "then wher are you? We will concede that at three minutes past the whole wedding party has been assembled In front of the church. Let's hope It's not raining. Her they come, dodging from the motor cars under the canopy and pasi the grinning mob of strangers gathered to catch a glimpse. Word has been passed to the organist, who swings into the opening bars of the Wedding March. The procession proces-sion moves. Anything joyous about it. or impressive, or even dignified? Try keeping step to the Weddiug March, either om them, without doing a kind of top-heavy sway, complicated by spavin ' and in -growing toenails. Tum-tmn-te-tum! In the usual slow time. March, eh? For a bow-legged sailor, staggering back to his ship after forty-eight hours of shore leave unwisely spent. But not a tune that normal human beings should be asked to march to. Oh. if you can hold one foot in the air during two bears and :-ti!l keep moving, you can hold the rhythm. But not otherwise. "Yet there they go: ushers, pretty bridesmaids, flower girl, and .tho blushing blush-ing bride on the arm of a bewildered parent who is trying to look solemn and fatherly, but is filled with a, vague protest pro-test at being dragged into this silly woman's affair; all turn-turn -te-turning as best they can. and being quite as graceful and stately about U as'nf walking walk-ing over a plowed field in the dark. "Somehow- or other, though, they arrive; ar-rive; and if they have luck, they group themselves without upsetting any of the potted ferns. The minister begins. The rings are produced. The 'Who giveth' question is asked, and as the bewildered father reiires. let us watch to seo if ho trips on daughter's train. No, he hops over it. which causes a fat girl in an aisle seat to snicker. AH is well. That is, unless the anxious groom, who has been coached not to mumble his responses, re-sponses, goes to the other extreme and makes a college yell out of his 'I wilt's.' "So there you have it; the whole bizarre bi-zarre performance, built up and elaborated elab-orated by early Victorian females, abetted abet-ted by a gown-wearing clergy, and handed hand-ed on rfown to us with few changes. And yet we think that the Senegalese, who roll ,a perforated brass ball before the bridal party and wear flower chains around their neckr, are a curious aud benighted people. Bah"' "Gee:" says T. breathin deep, "Fm glad Mrs. McCabe ain't a widow. How do you feel about it now. Bedford?" "Why," says he, grinnin' brave, "I guess if Dixie can go through with it. I can. But suppose you wanted to marry someone, Garry, how would you do it?" "Ah, I expect he'd hire a bank vault," says I, "and pull it off at midnight." "Xo," says Garry. "I presume I should set my teeth and do just as you're going to do next Wednesday." "Anyway," says I, "you've thrown a scare into me, all right. No usherin' in mine, Bedford. I'll be sittin' in a back seat grippin a bottle of smellin' salts." Course, it didn't work out just that way. As it was, I come mighty near not gettin' there at ail. At the start everything every-thing looked fine, both Miss Patten and Bedford havin' escaped accidents, arrest and the whoopin cough. Also it was a swell day and everything sittin' pretty.' Pinckney had asked me to stick around at the hotel where Bedford was stay in' and see that the happy pair's suit cases was stowed in their tov.rin" car without being tampered with by any confetti comedians. 1 was right on the job. too, and it was about time for Bedford to get under way. when this Jimmy Langdon, his best man, comes rushiii' in, excited, with a kit bag in one hand. "For the love of soup, Bedford," he gasps, "will you look what I've done!" "Eh?" says Bedford, gTinnin nervous at him. "Left, my blinkety-blinked frock coat I at home!" announces Jimmy, starin" simple. sim-ple. "Thought I'd packed it in the bag. Remember having it in my hand, but just f then I must have called up the florist, j to see if he'd attended to everything, and j left it out. Silly thing to do. And here I am, with nothing but this brown checked jacket to go with the wedding trousers and waistcoat. Look nice, wouldn't it? Can't be done. No. Gotta have a frock coat. Where? Inside of three minutes. Oh. what a bonehead!" "Vain regrets," says Pinckney. "Frock coats aren't so rare. Whole city full of 'em. Shorty, get Mr. Langdon a frock coat, will you?' "Sure!" says T. Not that I'd located one. or' thought I could. But it was the right thing to say. I dashes out into the corridor and just by luck a bellhop was goin. He had red hair. too. which is a good sign. "Hay. boy!" says I, gTabbin' him by the arm. " "Get me a frock coat, medium size." "Eh?" says he, starin' at me, "Wh when, sir?" "Right away," says I. "Give you two minutes. And here. Shoot that on the spotted bones tonight." And I slips him a five. "Yes. sir." says he. tuckln it away. Would you believe it. he's back within the time limit, breathless, but a winner. He hands over a perfectly good frock coat. Looks to be about the right size, too. "Not that I'm curious," says I, "but what guest did you rob. son?" "Ah, I ain't takin that chance for a five." says he. "It's one I rented off'n the pastry cook for two bucks." I didn't tell that part when I produced the coat and helped the best man on with it. and he had no time to ask fool questions. ques-tions. But he was there in time to turn te-tum down the aisle with the rest. "Wasn't it n perfectly charming wedding?" wed-ding?" says Mrs. McCabe on the way home. "And not a single hitch anywhere." any-where." "L'h-huh!" says L "Thanks to the pastry cook." And I expect she st ill thinks I was talkin' about the lady fingers served with ice cream. maids at leas once, and if he's enter- J prising, he may " "Check!" says L "That's enough. I can see where I'd be a poor performer up to that point: but. sav, when It came to pullin' that D Wolf iiopier stuff, I'd be so pink in the ears I'd look like I was carry in' two port lights. Back Bay Hahvahdese lingo, with no r's and all the broad a's stretched the limit, like he was born in Copley Square, which he almost was. Y'et him and rn always seem to find each other kind of enter-tainin' enter-tainin' when we get together. "Quite right of you. Professor," says he, when I've told Bedford he can count Plnckney. "Having placed all the guests In the right pews, or the wrong ones, as the case ma he. he usually Joins In the bridal procession up the aisle, and groups himself picturesquely somewhere near the altar while the ceremony goes on." "Huh!" says L "Right up front, eh?" "Oh. no one looks at him." says Plnckney, Plnck-ney, "unless a potted palm tickles him behind the ear and he sneezes. Then, at the proper moment, he offers his arm to a bridesmaid and gets Into step for the Recessional. After that all he has to do is to help escort out front -pew guests, to tuck 'em into the limousines, and hurry to the house where the reception, if any, is to take place. And in the course of an hour or so. after he has exercised his immemorial rights of oFculation " "Eh?" I breaks in. "What's that in low-brow English?" "He is supposed." says Pinckney, "to kiss the bride and each of the brides- X u l: lw when I produced the coat f hftd helped tke best mm oz witfv it. It's all off. Pinckney. I'll send Bedford niy regrets right awav. I didn't dream there was all that to being a weddin' usher. We live and learn, don't we?" "Alas ! says Pinckney. "Some of us only live. You see. I have accepted." "Oh, well," says I. "you're case hardened. hard-ened. You could drift down a line of sweet young things in pink tulle ha-ts and peck "em on their cheek dimpies without workin' up a flush; but as for me say. let's not talk about it.' And the first thing I did after gettin' home that eve-tin' was to locate Bedford Bed-ford Ames. I finds he's one of a dinner party bunch at the Purdy-Pelly. so about 9 o'clock I wanders over there and crashes into the smokin' room, where the men are hittin' up their cigars and cigarets. Among those present is Pinckney. Pinck-ney. as usual, and that sculptor friend of his. Garry Gale, from Boston. The two of 'em was chattin" with Bedford, but I'm so anxious to scratch my entry on the usher list that I don't wait to get young Ames off in a corner. And when Garry hears about a church weddin', he pricks up his ears at once. He's what I'd call a back number cutie-boy. cutie-boy. Garry. A chunky, round-faced party, with wavy front hair and big solemn eyes, and an air of having seen all there was worth seeing. Also he can talkrtnis me out on the usherin'. "Don't let them lure you into any such hazardous enterprise." enter-prise." "Oh, I say, Gary"' Protested Pinckney. "Th:s is Mr. Ames's "show, you know." "If only it was!" says Garry. "Insidious "Insidi-ous fallacy. He is mereiy the helpless groom, who has been snared in the loop of Fate, and soon will be struggling in the tangled web of matrimonial conventions." conven-tions." That gets a chuckle out of Bedford. "I hadn't thought of it m that light, you know," says he. "Rather had a notion I was engineering the affair myself. "Yes. they do. at first." admits Garry. "Fancy themselves as conquering, compelling com-pelling males. 'Let us marry,' they urge. I suppose you got that far all by yourself, your-self, didn't you?" Bedford admits, modest, that he did. "And then." goes on Garry. 'I suppose you demanded that it be a church wedding, wed-ding, eh?" "Yhy." says Bedford, draggy, "I hardly hard-ly remember who suggested that detail. Perhaps Miss Patten did, or her aunt. But it's the regular thing to do. isn't it?" "It is.- says Garry-. "That's the tragedy trag-edy of it. The thing is unescapable, no more to be avoided than the dentist s chair or paying one's income tax.'' a wedding party. You have perhaps a ! dozen persons whose presence is vitally necessary; the two principals, the njin-later, njin-later, the best man. the maid of honor, bridesmaids and ushers. The clock hands point to two minutes of the appointed j hour. The organist has begun the prelude.' prel-ude.' The people in the packed pews whisper and crane their necks to look at the doors. Why? Because they are con- j scions that a dramatic climax has ar-rived. ar-rived. They feel the thrill of uncertaintv. 1 Will the show go on as scheduled? It "is time. The hour is being boomed out on tho big bell in the steeple. A minute has gone past, nearly two. "Can anything have happened to the bride'.' Ha;- she fainted, perhaps; or can't the mcdiste get her veil to hang right? Or is It the groom who causes the delay? de-lay? Buzz-buzz: go the tongues of the gossips. Maybe the best man missed his train. Or the boy from the florist's got lost with the bridal bouquet." "Say. I" be hanged if you ain't makin' me nervous!" I breaks in. "And look at Bedford. Why. he's ready to paw with bis front foot.'' "Sot as yet." says Bedford. "Go on with the agony. Garry. With an imagina-tion imagina-tion like that you ought to be a life insurance in-surance solicitor." "But I'm not drawing on my imagina- I |