But the hour for the wedding came and went, and the bride and
bridegroom came not. And impatience gave way to alarm and alarm
brought about search, and they were not found. And then two big
policemen took a hand and dragged out of the furious mob of onlookers
a crushed and trampled thing, with a wedding ring in its vest pocket
and a shredded and hysterical woman beating her way to the carpet's
edge, ragged, bruised and obstreperous.

William Pry and Violet Seymour, creatures of habit, had joined in the
seething game of the spectators, unable to resist the overwhelming
desire to gaze upon themselves entering, as bride and bridegroom, the
rose-decked church.

Rubber will out.

IX

ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS

"One thousand dollars," repeated Lawyer Tolman, solemnly and
severely, "and here is the money."

Young Gillian gave a decidedly amused laugh as he fingered the thin
package of new fifty-dollar notes.

"It's such a confoundedly awkward amount," he explained, genially, to
the lawyer. "If it had been ten thousand a fellow might wind up with
a lot of fireworks and do himself credit. Even fifty dollars would
have been less trouble."

"You heard the reading of your uncle's will," continued Lawyer
Tolman, professionally dry in his tones. "I do not know if you paid
much attention to its details. I must remind you of one. You are
required to render to us an account of the manner of expenditure of
this $1,000 as soon as you have disposed of it. The will stipulates
that. I trust that you will so far comply with the late Mr. Gillian's
wishes."

"You may depend upon it," said the young man.% politely, "in spite of
the extra expense it will entail. I may have to engage a secretary. I
was never good at accounts."

Gillian went to his club. There he hunted out one whom he called Old
Bryson.

Old Bryson was calm and forty and sequestered. He was in a corner
reading a book, and when he saw Gillian approaching he sighed, laid
down his book and took off his glasses.

"Old Bryson, wake up," said Gillian. "I've a funny story to tell
you."

"I wish you would tell it to some one in the billiard room," said Old
Bryson. "You know how I hate your stories."

"This is a better one than usual," said Gillian, rolling a cigarette;
"and I'm glad to tell it to you. It's too sad and funny to go with
the rattling of billiard balls. I've just come from my late uncle's
firm of legal corsairs. He leaves me an even thousand dollars