four years and
now he says he never dreamed there'd be another one, so he didn't think
it was worth while to save up enough to git married on. You don't happen
to have a bid there fer his weddin', have you, Anderson? That would be
too much to expect, I guess."

"How old do you make out Bessie is, Alf?" asked Mr. Crow, shuffling the
envelopes until he found the one he wanted. He removed the card, printed
neatly by the _Tinkletown Banner_ Press, and squinted at it through his
spectacles.

"Forty-nine," said Alf, promptly. "Twenty-sixth of last January."

"Well, poor old George'll have to do his settin' in Sofer's store after
the third o' June," said the other, chuckling. "She has threw him over,
as my daughter would say."

"What's that?"

"Yep. Bessie's goin' to be married next Sunday to Charlie Smith."

"Fer the Lord's sake!" gasped Alf. "How c'n that be? Charlie's got a
wife an' three grown children."

"'Tain't old Charlie. It's young Charlie," said Anderson, looking hard
at the invitation. "'Charles Elias Smith, Junior,' it says."

Alf was speechless. He merely stared while the town marshal made mental
calculations.

"She's twenty-six years older'n he is, Alf."

"There must be some mistake," muttered Alf.

"Not if you're sure she's forty-nine," said Anderson. "Subtract
twenty-three from forty-nine and you have twenty-six, with nothin' to
carry. Besides, old Charlie's middle name is Bill."

"Well, I'll be dog-goned," said Alf, in a weak voice.

"And here's another'n'," said Anderson, passing a card to his companion.

Alf read: "'The son and daughter of Mrs. Ellen Euphemia Ricketts request
the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their mother to Mr.
Pietro Emanuel Cocotte, on June 1, 1917, at twelve o'clock noon at the
family residence, No. 17 Lincoln Street, Tinkletown, New York.' Well,
I'll be--" Alf interrupted himself to repeat one of the names. "Who is
this Pietro Emanuel Cocotte? I never heard of--"

"Petey Sickety," said Anderson.

"The sprinklin'-cart driver?"

"The same," said the marshal, his lips tightening. He had once tried to
arrest the young man for "disturbing the peace," and had been obliged to
call upon the crowd for help.

"Why, good gosh, he don't earn more'n ten dollars a week and he sends
half of that back to Sweden," said Alf.

"Europe," corrected Anderson, patiently. He had put up with a good deal
of ignorance on the part of Alf during a long and watchful
acquaintan