what'll you be doin'? You'll be
gettin' busy. And then won't you need a buryin' association to bury 'em?
I just guess yes. That was the compliment to your good taste in skirts I
was tryin' to come across with when Mary butted in."

His glittering eyes rested for a moment in bantering triumph on Mary.

"Who says I'm squiffed? Me? Not on your life. I'm seein' all things in a
clear white light. An' I see Bill there, my old friend Bill. An' I don't
see two Bills. I see only one. Bill was never two-faced in his life.
Bill, old man, when I look at you there in the married harness, I'm
sorry--" He ceased abruptly and turned on Mary. "Now don't go up in the
air, old girl. I'm onto my job. My grandfather was a state senator, and
he could spiel graceful an' pleasin' till the cows come home. So can
I.--Bill, when I look at you, I'm sorry. I repeat, I'm sorry." He glared
challengingly at Mary. "For myself when I look at you an' know all the
happiness you got a hammerlock on. Take it from me, you're a wise guy,
bless the women. You've started well. Keep it up. Marry 'em all, bless
'em. Bill, here's to you. You're a Mohegan with a scalplock. An' you
got a squaw that is some squaw, take it from me. Minnehaha, here's to
you--to the two of you--an' to the papooses, too, gosh-dang them!"

He drained the glass suddenly and collapsed in his chair, blinking his
eyes across at the wedded couple while tears trickled unheeded down
his cheeks. Mary's hand went out soothingly to his, completing his
break-down.

"By God, I got a right to cry," he sobbed. "I'm losin' my best friend,
ain't I? It'll never be the same again never. When I think of the fun,
an' scrapes, an' good times Bill an' me has had together, I could darn
near hate you, Saxon, sittin' there with your hand in his."

"Cheer up, Bert," she laughed gently. "Look at whose hand you are
holding."

"Aw, it's only one of his cryin' jags," Mary said, with a harshness
that her free hand belied as it caressed his hair with soothing strokes.
"Buck up, Bert. Everything's all right. And now it's up to Bill to say
something after your dandy spiel."

Bert recovered himself quickly with another glass of wine.

"Kick in, Bill," he cried. "It's your turn now."

"I'm no hotair artist," Billy grumbled. "What'll I say, Saxon? They
ain't no use tellin' 'em how happy we are. They know that."

"Tell them we're always going to be happy," she said. "And thank them
for all their good wishes, and we