"Well, _I'm_ doing that," said Mr. Voules in a refreshingly full voice
and looking round the church. "You see, me and Martha Larkins being
cousins--"
He was silenced by the clergyman's rapid grip directing the exchange
of hands.
"Pete arf me," said the clergyman to Mr. Polly. "Take thee Mirum wed
wife--"
"Take thee Mirum wed' wife," said Mr. Polly.
"Have hold this day ford."
"Have hold this day ford."
"Betworse, richpoo'--"
"Bet worsh, richpoo'...."
Then came Miriam's turn.
"Lego hands," said the clergyman; "got the ring? No! On the book. So!
Here! Pete arf me, 'withis ring Ivy wed.'"
"Withis ring Ivy wed--"
So it went on, blurred and hurried, like the momentary vision of an
utterly beautiful thing seen through the smoke of a passing train....
"Now, my boy," said Mr. Voules at last, gripping Mr. Polly's elbow
tightly, "you've got to sign the registry, and there you are! Done!"
Before him stood Miriam, a little stiffly, the hat with a slight rake
across her forehead, and a kind of questioning hesitation in her face.
Mr. Voules urged him past her.
It was astounding. She was his wife!
And for some reason Miriam and Mrs. Larkins were sobbing, and Annie
was looking grave. Hadn't they after all wanted him to marry her?
Because if that was the case--!
He became aware for the first time of the presence of Uncle Pentstemon
in the background, but approaching, wearing a tie of a light mineral
blue colour, and grinning and sucking enigmatically and judiciously
round his principal tooth.
V
It was in the vestry that the force of Mr. Voules' personality began
to show at its true value. He seemed to open out and spread over
things directly the restraints of the ceremony were at an end.
"Everything," he said to the clergyman, "excellent." He also shook
hands with Mrs. Larkins, who clung to him for a space, and kissed
Miriam on the cheek. "First kiss for me," he said, "anyhow."
He led Mr. Polly to the register by the arm, and then got chairs for
Mrs. Larkins and his wife. He then turned on Miriam. "Now, young
people," he said. "One! or _I_ shall again."
"That's right!" said Mr. Voules. "Same again, Miss."
Mr. Polly was overcome with modest confusion, and turning, found a
refuge from this publicity in the arms of Mrs. Larkins. Then in a
state of profuse moisture he was assaulted and kissed by Annie and
Minnie, who were immediately kissed upon some indistinctly stated
grounds by Mr. Voules, who then kissed the entirely impassive Mrs.
Voules and smacked his lips and remarked: "Home again safe and sound!"
Then with a strange harrowing cry Mrs. Larkins seized upon and bedewed
Miriam with kisses, Annie and Minnie kissed each other, and Johnson
went abruptly to the door of the vestry and stared into the church--no
doubt with ideas of sanctuary in his mind. "Like a bit of a kiss round
sometimes," said Mr. Voules, and made a kind of hissing noise with his
teeth, and suddenly smacked his hands together with great _éclat_
several times. Meanwhile the clergyman scratched his cheek with one
hand and fiddled the pen with the other and the verger coughed
protestingly.
"The dog cart's just outside," said Mr. Voules. "No walking home
to-day for the bride, Mam."
"Not going to drive us?" cried Annie.
"The happy pair, Miss. _Your_ turn soon."
"Get out!" said Annie. "I shan't marry--ever."
"You won't be able to help it. You'll have to do it--just to disperse
the crowd." Mr. Voules laid his hand on Mr. Polly's shoulder. "The
bridegroom gives his arm to the bride. Hands across and down the
middle. Prump. Prump, Perump-pump-pump-pump."
Mr. Polly found himself and the bride leading the way towards the
western door.
Mrs. Larkins passed close to Uncle Pentstemon, sobbing too earnestly
to be aware of him. "Such a goo-goo-goo-girl!" she sobbed.
"Didn't think _I'd_ come, did you?" said Uncle Pentstemon, but she
swept past him, too busy with the expression of her feelings to
observe him.
"She didn't think I'd come, I lay," said Uncle Pentstemon, a little
foiled, but effecting an auditory lodgment upon Johnson.
"I don't know," said Johnson uncomfortably.
"I suppose you were asked. How are you getting on?"
"I was _arst_," said Uncle Pentstemon, and brooded for a moment.
"I goes about seeing wonders," he added, and then in a sort of
enhanced undertone: "One of 'er girls gettin' married. That's what I
mean by wonders. Lord's goodness! Wow!"
"Nothing the matter?" asked Johnson.
"Got it in the back for a moment. Going to be a change of weather I
suppose," said Uncle Pentstemon. "I brought 'er a nice present, too,
what I got in this passel. Vallyble old tea caddy that uset' be my
mother's. What I kep' my baccy in for years and years--till the hinge
at the back got broke. It ain't been no use to me particular since, so
thinks I, drat it! I may as well give it 'er as not...."
Mr. Polly found himself emerging from the western door.
Outside, a crowd of half-a-dozen adults and about fifty children had
collected, and hailed the approach of the newly wedded couple with a
faint, indeterminate cheer. All the children were holding something in
little bags, and his attention was caught by the expression of
vindictive concentration upon the face of a small big-eared boy in the
foreground. He didn't for the moment realise what these things might
import. Then he received a stinging handful of rice in the ear, and a
great light shone.
"Not yet, you young fool!" he heard Mr. Voules saying behind him, and
then a second handful spoke against his hat.
"Not yet," said Mr. Voules with increasing emphasis, and Mr. Polly
became aware that he and Miriam were the focus of two crescents of
small boys, each with the light of massacre in his eyes and a grubby
fist clutching into a paper bag for rice; and that Mr. Voules was
warding off probable discharges with a large red hand.
The dog cart was in charge of a loafer, and the horse and the whip
were adorned with white favours, and the back seat was confused but
not untenable with hampers. "Up we go," said Mr. Voules, "old birds in
front and young ones behind." An ominous group of ill-restrained
rice-throwers followed them up as they mounted.
"Get your handkerchief for your face," said Mr. Polly to his bride,
and took the place next the pavement with considerable heroism, held
on, gripped his hat, shut his eyes and prepared for the worst. "Off!"
said Mr. Voules, and a concentrated fire came stinging Mr. Polly's
face.
The horse shied, and when the bridegroom could look at the world again
it was manifest the dog cart had just missed an electric tram by a
hairsbreadth, and far away outside the church railings the verger and
Johnson were battling with an active crowd of small boys for the life
of the rest of the Larkins family. Mrs. Punt and her son had escaped
across the road, the son trailing and stumbling at the end of a
remorseless arm, but Uncle Pentstemon, encumbered by the tea-caddy,
was the centre of a little circle of his own, and appeared to be
dratting them all very heartily. Remoter, a policeman approached with
an air of tranquil unconsciousness.
"Steady, you idiot. Stead-y!" cried Mr. Voules, and then over his
shoulder: "I brought that rice! I like old customs! Whoa! Stead-y."
The dog cart swerved violently, and then, evoking a shout of
groundless alarm from a cyclist, took a corner, and the rest of the
wedding party was hidden from Mr. Polly's eyes.