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“So you think you c’n git married without my consent, do you?” demanded Anderson, witheringly. “You think you c’n sneak around behind my back an’–“

“I ain’d sneakin’ aroundt behind anybody’s back,” broke in Otto, straightening up. “I don’t know what you are talking aboud, Mr. Crow,–and needer do you,” he added gratuitously. “What for do I haf to get your consent to get married for? I get myself’s consent and my girl’s consent and my fadder’s consent–Say!” His voice rose. “Don’t you think I am of age yet?”

“If you talk loud like that, I’ll run you in fer disturbin’ the peace, young feller,” warned Anderson, observing that a few of Tinkletown’s citizens were slowly but surely surrendering squatter’s rights to chairs and soap-boxes on the shady side of the block. “Just you keep a civil tongue in–“

“You ain’d answered my question yet,” insisted Otto, with increased vigour.

“Here’s your hat, Otto,” said Alf Reesling in a conciliatory voice. He was brushing the article with the sleeve of his coat. “A horse must’a’ stepped on it or somethin’. I never see–“

“Ain’d I of age, Mr. Crow?” bellowed Otto. “Didn’t I vote for you at the last–“

“That ain’t the question,” interrupted Anderson sharply. “The question is, is the girl of age?” He favoured his sixteen-year-old daughter with a fiery glance.

Otto Schultz’s broad, flat face became strangely pinched. There was something positively apoplectic in the hue that spread over it.

“Oh, Pop!” shrieked Susie, a peal of laughter bursting from her lips. Instantly, however, her two hands were pressed to her mouth, stifling the outburst.

Otto gave her a hurt, surprised–and unmistakably horrified–look. Then a silly grin struggled into existence.

“Maybe she don’d tell the truth aboud her age yet, Mr. Crow,” he said huskily. “Women always lie aboud their ages. Maybe she lie aboud hers.”

Anderson flared. “Don’t you dare say my daughter lies about her age–or anything else,” he roared.

“Whose daughter?” gasped Otto.

“Mine!”

“But she ain’d your daughter.”

“What! Well, of all the–“

Words failed Mr. Crow. He looked helplessly, appealingly at Alf Reesling, as if for support.

“What’s the sense of doing that?” argued one middle-aged widow of a practical turn of mind. “You can save funeral expenses by letting the Germans do it for you.”

The next day the merchants of Tinkletown–notably the Five and Ten Cent Store and Fisher’s Queensware Store–did a thriving business. From one end of the town to the other came people returning presents that fortunately had not been delivered, and others asking to have their accounts credited with presents already received.

Of the twenty-odd weddings announced for the week ending June 3, 1917, only one took place.

Mr. Otto Schultz was married on Saturday to Miss Bumbelburg. He was the only candidate in town who was worth suing for breach of promise. Miss Bumbelburg, having waited many years for her chance, was not to be frightened by a Presidential proclamation. The duration of the war meant nothing to her. She had unlimited faith in the Kaiser. When the war was over he would come over to the United States and revoke all the silly old laws. And she was so positive about it that, after a rather heated interview in the home of Mr. Schultz, senior, that gentleman admitted it would be cheaper for her to come and live with them after the wedding than to present her with the thousand dollars she demanded in case Otto preferred war to peace.

Mr. Crow, on the 5th of June, strode proudly, efficiently, up and down Main Street, always stopping at the registration booth to slap former fiances on the back and encourage them with such remarks as this:

“That’s right, son. If you’ve got to fight, fight for your country.”

To Mr. Alf Reesling he confided:

“I tell you what, Alf, when this here Kaiser comes up ag’inst me he strikes a snag. He couldn’t ‘a’ started his plot in a worse place than here in Tinkletown. Gosh, with all you hear about German efficiency, you’d ‘a’ thought he’d ‘a’ knowed better, wouldn’t you?”