FullReads

At nine-fifteen Mr. Culver and Myrtle were married at the same address by Mr. Ostermaier, standing in front of the fire truck.

But this should be related in detail. So bitter was Charlie Sands, so uneasy about the license, and so on, that I feel in fairness to Tish that I should relate exactly what happened.

At ten o’clock that night everything was over, and we had gathered in Tish’s apartment while Hannah broiled a steak, for Tish felt that the occasion permitted a certain extravagance, when Charlie Sands came in. Behind him was a dishevelled young man, with wild eyes and a suitcase. Charlie Sands stood and glared at us.

“Well!” he said. And then: “Where’s the young lady?”

“What young lady?” asked Tish, coldly.

The young man stepped forward, with his fists clenched.

“Mine!” he bellowed. “Mine! Don’t deny it. I recognize you. I saw you–the lot of you. I saw you drag her into a car and kidnap her. I saw that ass Culver and a policeman chasing you in another car. Oh, I know you, all right. Didn’t I pay twenty-two dollars for a taxicab that got three punctures all at once thirty miles from the city? Now where is she?”

“Just a moment,” said Tish’s nephew, holding him back by an arm across his chest. “Just remember that whatever my aunt has done was done with the best intentions.”

“D—- her intentions! I want Myrtle.”

The dreadful truth must have come to Tish at that moment, as it did to the rest of us. I know that she turned pale. But she rose and pointed magnificently to the door.

“Leave my apartment,” she said majestically. And to Charlie Sands: “Take that madman away and lock him up. Then, if you have anything to say to me, come back alone.”

“Not a step,” said the young man. “Where’s my marriage license? Where’s—-“

But Charlie Sands pushed him out into the hallway and closed the door on him. Then, with folded arms he surveyed us.

“That’s right!” he said. “Knot! I believe most pirates knit on off days. Now, Aunt Letitia, I want the whole story.”

“Story?”

“About the license. He says the girl had the license.”

“What license?”

“Don’t evade!” he said sternly. “Where were you this afternoon?”

“If you want the truth,” said Tish, “although it’s none of your business, Charlie Sands, and you can unfold your arms, because the pose has no effect on me,–I was out rounding up a young man who had not registered. I got him and brought him in to my precinct at five minutes to nine.”

“And that’s the truth?”

“Go and ask Mr. Ostermaier,” said Tish, in a bored tone.

“But this boy outside—-“

“Look here,” Tish said suddenly, “go and ask that noisy young idiot for his blue card. It’s my belief he hasn’t registered and more than likely he’s been making all this fuss so he’ll have an excuse if he’s found out. How do we know,” she went on, gaining force with each word, “that there is a Myrtle?”

“By George!” said Charlie Sands, and disappeared.

It was then, for the first time in her valiant life, that I saw our Tish weaken.

“Lizzie!” she groaned, leaning back in her chair. “That Culver was married with another man’s name on the license. What’s more, I married him to that flibbertygibbet who had just jilted him. What have I done? Oh, what have I done?”

“They both seemed happy, Tish,” I tried to soothe her. But she refused all consolation, and merely called Hannah and asked for some blackberry cordial. She drank fully half a tumbler full and she recovered her poise by the time Charlie Sands stuck his head through the door again.

“You’re right, most shrewd of aunts,” he said. “He’s been playing me for a sucker all right. Not a blue card on him! And he belongs out of town, so it’s too late.”

“It’s a jail matter,” said Tish, knitting calmly, although we afterwards discovered that she had put a heel on the wristlet she was making. “You’d better get his name, and I’ll notify the sheriff of his county in the morning.”