Robert don't get wise to what's been framed up for him until
here Saturday afternoon out at Marjorie's, when they start to spring the
programme on him.

"Why, see here, sis," says he, "you've put this three weeks off!"

"The bridesmaids' gowns can't be finished a day sooner," says Marjorie.
"Besides, the invitations must be engraved; you can't get a caterer
like Marselli at a moment's notice; and there is the organ to be
installed, you know."

"Organ!" protests Mr. Robert. "Oh, I say!"

"You don't expect the Lohengrin March to be played on drums, I hope,"
said Marjorie. "Do be sensible! You've been best man times enough to
know that----"

"Great Scott, yes," says Mr. Robert. "But really, sis, I don't want to
go through all that dreary business--dragging in to the wedding-march,
with everyone looking solemn and holding their breath while they stare
at you! Why, it's deadly! Gloomy, you know; a relic of barbarism worthy
of some savage tribe."

"Why, Robert!" protests Marjorie.

"But it is," he goes on. "Haven't I pitied the poor victims who had to
go through with it? Think of having to run that gauntlet--morbidly
curious old women, silly girls, bored men--and trying to keep step to
that confounded dirge. Wedding march, indeed! They make it sound more
like the march of the condemned. _Tum-tum-te-dum!_ Ugh! I tell you,
Marjorie, I'm not going to have it. Nor any of this stodgy, grewsome
fuss. I mean to have a cheerful wedding."

"Humph!" says Marjorie. "I suppose you would like to hop-skip-and-jump
down to the altar?"

"Why not?" asks Mr. Robert.

"Don't be absurd, Robert," says she. "You'll be married quite
respectably and sanely, as other people are. Anyway, you'll just have
to. Mrs. Pulsifer and I are managing the affair, remember."

"Are you?" says Mr. Robert, lettin' out the first growl I'd heard from
him in over a week.

I nudges Vee and we exchanges grins.

"The groom always takes on that way," she whispers. "It's the usual
thing."

I was sorry for the Boss, too. He'd been havin' such a good time before.
But now he goes off with his chin down and his brow all wrinkled up.
Course we knew he'd go straight to Elsa and tell her his troubles. But I
couldn't see where that was goin' to do him any good. You know how women
are about such things. They may be willin' to take a chance along some
lines, but when it comes to weddin's and funerals they're stand-patters.

So Sunday afternoon, when I gets a 'pho