(_A STORY OF WHAT MAY HAPPEN SOME DAY IN GEORGE STREET, HANOVER
SQUARE._)
There were a few minutes unoccupied before the time appointed for the
ceremony, and so the Pew-opener thought he could not do better than
point out the many excellences of the church to the Bridegroom.
"You see, Sir," he said, "our pulpit is occupied by the best possible
talent. The Vicar takes the greatest interest in securing every rising
preacher, and thus, Sunday after Sunday, we have the most startling
orations."
The Bridegroom (slightly bored) said that if he had happened to live
in the neighbourhood, he should certainly have taken sittings.
"But living in the neighbourhood is not necessary, Sir," persisted the
Pew-opener. "Let into the sounding-board is a telephone, and so our
Vicar can supply the sermons preached here, hot and hot, to residents
in the London Postal District. Considering the quality of the
discourses, he charges a very low rate. The system has been largely
adopted. As a matter of fact the whole service, and not only the
pulpit, has been laid on to the principal Hotels and Clubs."
But further conversation was here cut short by the arrival of the
Bride, who, led by her brother, advanced towards the altar with an air
of confidence that charmed all beholders. This self-possession was
the outcome of the lady being--as her grey moiré-antique indicated--a
widow. Congratulations passed round amongst the friends and relatives,
and then the bridal party was arranged in front of the good old Vicar.
"Have you switched us on?" said he to the Clerk.
"Yes, Sir," was the reply. "We are now in communication with all the
principal Hotels and Clubs."
"That's right. I am always anxious that my clients shall have their
full money's-worth." And then the Vicar read with much emphasis the
exhortation to the public to declare any "just cause or impediment" to
the marriage. Naturally there was no response, and an opening hymn was
sung by the choir, which, containing some half-dozen verses, lasted
quite a quarter of an hour. At its conclusion the Vicar, who had
allowed his attention to become distracted, instead of going on with
the service, again read the exhortation. He once more gave the names
of "HARRY SMITH, bachelor," and "AMY JONES, widow."
"If anyone knows any just cause or impediment," he continued.
"Stop; I do!" interrupted a gentleman in a dressing-gown, who had
hurriedly entered the Church. "I heard you about a quarter of an hour
ago, while I was breakfasting at the Shaftesbury Avenue Hotel, ask the
same question, and came here without changing my coat. Very sorry to
interrupt the ceremony, but this lady is my wife! Well, AMY, how are
you?"
"What, JOEY!" exclaimed the (now) ex-Bride, delightedly. "We _are_
glad to see you! We thought you were dead!"
Then the gentleman in the dressing-gown was heartily greeted on all
sides. He seemed to be a very popular personage.
"But where do I come in?" asked Mr. BROWN, the ex-Bridegroom, who had,
during this scene, shown signs of embarrassment.
"O JOEY, I quite forgot to introduce you to HARRY," said the ex-Bride.
"You must know one another. I was going to marry him when you,
darling, turned up just in the nick of time, like a dear good old
boy!"
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Sir," said Mr. JONES, shaking
Mr. BROWN warmly by the hand. "And now I must go back to finish my
breakfast!"
"Yes, with me," said the ex-Bride. "You must sit, darling, in the seat
intended for poor HARRY. I know you won't mind, HARRY (or, perhaps, I
ought to call you Mr. BROWN now?), as I have _so_ much to say to dear
JOEY. And you can have your breakfast at a side-table--now won't you,
just to please me? You always are _so_ kind and considerate!"
And, as the wedding-party left the Church, the Clerk hastily
unswitched the electric communication.
"Be quiet, Sir!" he whispered, sternly, to Mr. BROWN, who had been
talking to himself. "If our clients heard you, we should be ruined! We
guarantee that our telephonic supply shall be perfectly free from bad
language!"
* * * * *
PROPHET AND LOSS.--Good Mussulmen, so it is said, object to a play
entitled _Mahomet_ being produced in London. The objection was
successful in Paris. London Managers (except, perhaps, Sheriff
DRURIOLANUS, who revived _Le Prophete_ this season) will be on the
side of the objectors, as they would rather have to do with a genuine
profit than a fictitious one. Perhaps the non-production of _Mahomet_
may be a loss to Literature and the Drama.
* * * * *