"Well, it's about the Kendalls. I want you to make up with Arthur,
somehow--"
"Not on your--"
"Yes, Edward; you must. Remember the Thanksgiving sermon about
forgiveness and loving your neighbors."
"Oh, it's all well enough to love your neighbor, but there 's no
necessity for taking down the fence. Arthur treated me like a
step-child, and--"
"But, Checkers dear, we want Aunt Deb. and Mr. Kendall at the wedding.
They won't come unless Arthur does, and Arthur won't come unless you
make up with him. Consider, Checkers, you 've been unusually blest,
and you ought to be humble and thankful, and do something to show it;
and here's your opportunity. Another thing"--this came
hesitatingly--"he 's the only fellow about here who could make a decent
appearance as your best man."
Checkers went off into peals of laughter. "Oh," he exclaimed, "I begin
to tumble. Forgive your neighbor, if you happen to need
him--afterwards you can shake him again."
Pert joined in the laugh. "It is no such thing," she responded. "If
you half appreciated me, you would n't blame Arthur for being angry at
you for doing what you did to him. He loved me a great deal more than
you do; he never refused me a favor in his life."
"That's just why he lost you. Push Miller used to say--"
"Never mind Push Miller; Arthur is to be at Sadie's to-morrow evening.
You and I are going there to call. You are to shake hands with Arthur
and tell him you 're glad to see him, and be natural and friendly.
Afterwards you can ask him to stand up with you."
"It seems to be settled," said Checkers; and so it eventuated.
Checkers greeted Arthur with frank cordiality, and relieved the tension
by a few well-turned witticisms. No apologies passed between them, and
reference to the past was tacitly barred. Checkers' sunny nature was
not one to harbor a grudge, and if Arthur still felt rebellious, he
managed to hide it gracefully. He readily consented to act the part of
best man for Checkers; and Sadie, of course, was to be Pert's maid of
honor. Most of the evening was spent in discussing other available
material in the way of bridesmaids and groomsmen, and it was agreed
that with a few importations from Little Rock, they would be able to
present an attractive wedding party.
"Now, I have an idea," said Arthur, "which I think is a good one.
Checkers ought to know those fellows before they are asked to be his
groomsmen; we'll go up to Little Rock to-morrow, and I 'll invite them
to meet him at an informal dinner at one of the hotels."
"A very good scheme," assented Pert.
"And I 'll invite the party here to supper for the night before the
wedding," put in Sadie.
"It 's very kind of you both," said Checkers, "and I appreciate it more
than I can tell you."
Early the next morning the two boys went to Little Rock. Arthur
invited four of the most desirable of his acquaintances to dinner that
evening, and luckily they all accepted.
Most of Checkers' day was taken up in fulfilling missions for Pert and
her mother. He returned to the hotel late in the afternoon, and had
barely time to don his new dress-suit and join Arthur in the rotunda
before their guests arrived.
They were jolly good fellows, all of them. Checkers was duly
presented, and after a preliminary cocktail the party adjourned to the
private dining-room, where a round table was prettily laid for six.
Checkers felt apprehensive for Arthur, when he noticed three different
glasses at each plate; but Arthur took early occasion to state that he
was "on the water-wagon," and he hoped that the boys would "not let it
make any difference with them, or with the gayety of the evening"--and
it did n't. After the first edge of their hunger was turned the
jollity grew apace. Checkers in his happiest vein related numberless
humorous anecdotes, among them his experience of Remorse and the gold
piece. Each of them told his particular pet joke, and all were
boisterously applauded.
"Now, waiter," exclaimed Arthur, suddenly righting his down-turned
champagne glass, "fill them up again all around, and give me some.
Gentlemen, I want to propose a double toast, and I 'll ask you to drink
it standing--a bumper." All arose expectantly. "Let us drink," he
said, "to the health and happiness of the sweetest, fairest, most
lovable girl God ever put upon this earth--it is needless to name her.
Let us also drink to the health and prosperity of the thrice-fortunate
man who has won her love--Mr. Campbell, your health." He touched his
wine to his lips; the others drained their glasses, and all sat down.
There was an expectant silence. Checkers felt the blood go surging to
his brain, while his heart seemed to sink like lead within him. He
felt powerless to rise, although he knew that all were awaiting his
response. The silence became painful. "Speech," murmured some one.
"Speech," echoed the others. With a superhuman effort he managed to
arise, and grasping a full glass of water, drained it. "I 'll tell
you, boys," he said huskily, "here's where I 'd put up the talk of my
life, if I could; but it's like it was that day they declared all bets
off--the occasion 's too much for me. I feel it all--I feel it in my
heart," he continued earnestly. "I 'm obliged to Arthur for his
motion, and to you all for making it unanimous. I know that I 'm
lucky, so lucky that I can hardly believe my good fortune myself. Half
the time I think that I must be asleep, and trying to 'cash a
hop-dream.' I 've been ready to get married for a couple of years--I
've had everything but the stuff and the girl; I was ready to furnish
the groom all right; but I 've always had a feeling that I could n't
have much respect for a girl that would marry me if she was 'onto'
me--every fellow feels the same, or ought to. And so when I find I
have drawn a prize girl, who, as Arthur says, is 'the fairest and
sweetest God ever put on this earth,' and it's true, it jars me, boys;
it does, on the dead. I feel like the only winner in a poker-game, as
though I ought to apologize for it--and I do, with about the same
regret.
"Well, I 've had my hard luck, and 'played out the string,' and now
that things seem to be coming my way, I 'm going to enjoy myself while
it lasts. 'Life is short, and we 're a long time dead.' That's an old
saying, but it's a good one. Boys, I hope you 'll all be as happy as I
am when it comes your turn, and may it come soon. Here 's how." He
lifted his glass, which in the mean time the waiter had filled, and,
smiling around the circle, tossed off his wine in unison with the
others and sat down.
There was the usual clapping and cheering, after which Checkers asked
their attention for a moment more. "I want to sign two of you fellows
for groomsmen," he said. "I wish I needed four, I 'd like to have you
all; but Pert said 'two,' and what Pert says goes. Now, how shall we
decide it?"
"Why not match for it!" suggested one of them.
"Good idea!" exclaimed Checkers; "you four match nickels, odd man out.
until two are left--come on, get busy."
On the first trial, two called "heads," and two "tails." "No
business," said Checkers. On the second trial, three called "heads"
and one "tails." "Tough luck, old man," said Checkers to the one; "I
wanted you particularly." At the first essay of the three remaining,
all showed "heads" up; at the second two of them "switched" to "tails,"
while the third kept "heads"--thus deciding the matter.
"Well, that settles that," said Checkers; "but groomsmen or not, we 'll
all be there, and I hope we'll all have a good time."
It was in "the wee, sma' hours" when the party broke up, and Checkers
and Arthur, after seeing their guests safely out, sought their rooms,
and quickly tumbled into bed. Checkers, however, took occasion to
thank Arthur warmly for his kindness, and to express a hope that an
opportunity might soon occur for him to requite it. The next afternoon
saw them back in Clarksville.
The few intermediate days passed quickly. Sadie's supper was a
success, as such things go; the ceremony was rehearsed, and all was in
readiness for the great event.
The wedding morning dawned, as bright and beautiful a winter's day as
nature ever vouchsafed a happy bridal pair. Checkers was up with the
lark. He felt the weight of the nations upon his shoulders. All day
he was back and forth between house and church, anxious that nothing
should be overlooked; suggesting and helping until late in the
afternoon, when Arthur laid violent hands upon him, and insisted upon
his taking a rest before making a toilet for the evening.
Promptly at six, to the Lohengrin March on a cabinet organ, the bridal
party came slowly down the aisle, the two ushers first, and following
them, the two bridesmaids. After these came Sadie, alone, with a huge
bouquet of roses, and lastly leaning upon her father's arm, came Pert,
in a simple white gown, her veil wreathed with orange blossoms and
pinned with a diamond star, one of Checkers' gifts.
Every neck was craned, and every eye fastened upon her in breathless
admiration, for she was beautiful.
From behind a screen at the side, Checkers and Arthur came forth, and
met them at the altar. The service was simple, but solemn and
impressive. The earnestness of Checkers' answers caused a quiet smile
to pass around, which culminated in down-right laughter at the ardor
with which he kissed the bride when the time came; but he was wholly
oblivious. Marching out to the accustomed music, he could scarcely
maintain a decorous step, so great was his elation.
Their short drive to the house, during which he folded Pert in his
arms, and knew that she was his--all his--he felt to be the moment of
his supremest earthly happiness.
The others followed quickly. The guests arrived, and soon there were
congratulations, feasting, music and merry-making galore.
But all things--good things--have an end, and perhaps it is just as
well that they have; at least, in this case Checkers and Pert, as they
crossed the threshold of their own little home, breathed a happy sigh
at the thought that they were alone at last--together.