The day before the marriage of Flo Dearmore and Tommy Watson, the
latter's assistants in his auctioneering rooms signed a formal and
formidable looking agreement, framed by Whimple, and copied in
duplicate by one William Adolphus Turnpike. It was William's first
piece of typewriting for his boss, and he was mightily proud of it, for
it was neatly done, so neatly done in fact that it did not need a
single correction. And William's pride was the greater because he was
asked to accompany Whimple to the store, there to witness the signing
of the agreement. The ceremony was a solemn one--too solemn almost for
William--whose efforts to maintain a dignified bearing were almost too
much for Tommy. Whimple had no difficulty in maintaining the pose of a
lawyer engaged in a serious case, while the assistants were too
frightened to be anything else but soberly sheepish. The main clause
of the agreement was read over twice, the assistants affirming in timid
tones that they knew what it meant, and believed they had sense enough
to live up to it. And it ran something like this:--
"And we the parties hereinbefore and hereinafter referred to as
assistants to Thomas Watson, auctioneer of the said city of Toronto,
County of York, do hereby solemnly agree and bind ourselves on our
honour to respect such agreement; that we will not during the absence
of the said Thomas Watson from his lawful place of business during the
period of four weeks dating from the date of this agreement, to which
in the presence of witnesses we have signed our names, discuss, argue,
talk of, whisper, or shout in the presence of each other, or write or
read in the presence of each other, anything relating in any manner to
the Battle of Bannockburn or any other battle fought in or out of
Scotland or England or elsewhere between armies or forces or
individuals of either of the countries named. We also agree that we
will not in the presence of each other, by actions or other show that
might be so construed, attempt to convey each to the other any thoughts
we may have as to such battle, or battles, or conflicts. And we
further declare that we know and understand and comprehend the meaning
of the foregoing in all respects, that we are over twenty-one years of
age respectively, and are not subject to the control or permission of
parents or guardians in entering into the agreement as set forth in the
foregoing, and in the succeeding clauses of this agreement."
They signed both copies solemnly, William signed them too, as a
witness, and so did Whimple. One copy was nailed to the wall at the
back of the store, the other was given to Whimple, who was also given
power of attorney by the auctioneer during the absence of Tommy on his
honeymoon.
The first wedding that William Adolphus Turnpike ever attended as a
guest was that of Tommy Watson and Flo Dearmore. The formal invitation
was a startling surprise to the lad. It arrived at his home one
morning just as he was about to depart for the office. He read it
through three times, and then handed it over to his mother. "Ma," he
cried, "look at that!" She read it through, and a blush of pleasure
tinged her cheeks as she did so. "A church wedding, Willie, and you
invited; and then there's a--a--a de-jun-er. I guess that means a
spread at the house of the bride's mother."
"But me! Ma: why, I'd feel like a fish outer water among the bunch
that'll be there, unless," he added thoughtfully, "'Chuck' Epstein goes
too, and I can hang onto him."
The time between the reception of the invitation and the wedding was a
trying one for William. He worried about what he should wear--and his
choice was rather limited--but he worried more about what he should
give, "For," said his mother, "you'll have to give the bride something:
everybody does that when they're invited to a wedding." In the crisis
of his dilemma over this proposition William consulted "Chuck" Epstein,
and the result of their deliberations was the sending to the
prospective bride of a parrot "that could talk to beat the band," as
William said. Epstein never told him that he had himself paid the
original owner of the parrot a larger amount than William could spare,
and had arranged with him to accept the sum that the boy offered. And
of all the gifts that Flo Dearmore received from others but the man of
her choice, that parrot pleased her most, "For," said she, "he is the
slangiest bird imaginable, and sometimes he uses swear words--just like
my Tommy."
The wedding, which took place at "high noon" in an Anglican church, was
a wonderful experience for William. With "Chuck" Epstein, he had a
good seat near the altar, and many were the smiles and knowing nods
exchanged between other invited guests at the evident eagerness of the
lad to take in all the proceedings. And yet no other person, perhaps,
in the assembly--and it was a large one--felt more than William the
real solemnity of the ceremony. He was not very clear as to his exact
feelings, but the dignity of the rector, the simple beauty of the
marriage ritual, the singing of the choir, the love light in the eyes
of the bride and of Tommy, combined to impress him profoundly. He
smiled once, in fact he scarcely suppressed a snicker, but a warning
touch of Epstein's hand aided him to control himself.
The "dejeuner" almost put him "on the blink," he declared afterwards.
He was conscious only of two things: first, that the bride, amid all
the sweet confusion and merriment incidental to the occasion, found
time to introduce him to several ladies as "the dearest and cleverest
boy I know, next to Tommy," and that when the toasts were proposed he
had to make a speech. Epstein assisted him to stand, for the lad was
overwhelmed with embarrassment that amounted to fear. He never knew
just what he said at first, but when he recovered sufficiently to
realise that the faces turned toward him were kindly, and the smiles
were encouraging, his self-possession returned. Observant always, and
quick to see the right thing to do, William hoped that "Mister Watson
and his wife would live happy ever after, and," he concluded, with a
smile that was full of confidence, "I nearly snickered once when the
marriage was on. That was when the minister says something about, 'Do
you, Thomas Watson, take this woman for your wife?' or words something
like that, and I says to myself, 'Does he! Gee! And him looney
about----'" The rest was lost in a breeze of laughter and joyous
acclamations.
Afterwards there was more hustle and bustle, and finally the bride and
groom started for the railway station, with all the accompaniments
considered so necessary to start newly wedded couples on such journeys.
Others may have noticed, William certainly did, that though she smiled,
there were tears in Mrs. Dearmore's eyes as she stood at the doorstep
and waved her hands in farewell. And, as he left for the office,
William was thinking of that. "It means a lot for her," he said to
himself--"a lot. She--why--Flo will be--" he paused--"of course, of
course, it's always the way. It'll never be the same again for Mrs.
Dearmore, or Flo, or Tommy. This is a rummy world."
Later in the day he dropped into Tommy Watson's store and found the
assistants engaged in the hottest kind of argument. They took no
notice of him at all; indeed, they did not know he was there. He
listened for a few minutes, wrathful and unhappy, because he felt that
this was the time above all others when Tommy's business should be
attended to with diligence and enthusiasm, and then, still unnoticed,
he stole out of the store and ran back to the office. Whimple was not
in, and William, hastily glancing over his employer's daily reminder,
made a bee line for the county court. Here he found Whimple, having
just successfully emerged from a case in which he had defended a man
accused of theft, chatting with the county crown attorney.
"Excuse me, Mister Whimple," said William, abruptly, "but them guys are
at it again."
"Meaning----?" began Whimple.
"In Tommy Watson's store," William went on hurriedly, "and, honest,
it's fierce. I was in and outer the store, and neither of 'em even
looked at me."
Whimple bade adieu to the crown attorney, and started away with William.
"What are they fighting about now, William?" said Whimple, disgustedly,
as he hurried along the street with William by his side.
"Home r'rule fer I'r'r'reland or 'ome rule for Hireland! I don't know
just which," answered William with a smile.