succession. She was Inez or
Maude or Mabel or Gwendolyn or Pet or Sweetheart or Dearest, in rapid
succession, and in return for his pseudonymnal attentions, Mr.
Brotherton always was sure of receiving from Miss Mauling upon leaving
the office, an elaborately turned-up nose. For Miss Mauling was peevish
and far from happy. She had been conscious for nearly a year that her
power over young Mr. Van Dorn was failing, or that her charms were
waning, or that something was happening to clog or cloy her romance. On
a certain May morning she had sat industriously writing, "When in the
course of human events," "When in the course of human events it becomes
necessary," "When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for
a people to separate--" upon her typewriter, over and over and over
again, while she listened to Captain Morton selling young Mr. Van Dorn a
patent churn, and from the winks and nods and sly digs and nudges the
Captain distributed through his canvass, it was obvious to Miss Mauling
that affairs in certain quarters had reached a point.

That evening at Brotherton's Amen corner, where the gay young blades of
the village were gathered--Captain Morton decided that as court herald
of the community he should proclaim the banns between Thomas Van Dorn
and Laura Nesbit. Naturally he desired a proper entrance into the
conversation for his proclamation, but with the everlasting ting-aling
and tym-ty-tum of Nathan Perry's mandolin and the jangling accompaniment
of Morty's mandolin, opening for the court herald was not easy. Grant
Adams was sitting at the opposite end of the bench from the Captain,
deep in one of Mr. Brotherton's paper bound books--to-wit, "The Stones
of Venice," and young Joe Calvin sadly smoking his first stogy, though
still in his knickerbockers, was greedily feasting his eyes upon a copy
of the pink Police _Gazette_ hanging upon a rack above the counter.
Henry Fenn and Mr. Brotherton were lounging over the cigar case,
discussing matters of state as they affected a county attorney and a
mayor, when the Captain, clearing his throat, addressed Mr. Brotherton
thus:

"George--I sold two patent churns to two bridegrooms to-day--eh?" As the
music stopped the Captain, looking at Henry Fenn, added reflectively:
"Bet you four bits, George, you can't name the other one--what say?" No
one said and the Captain took up his solo. "Well--it's this-away: I see
what I see next door. And I hear what my girls say.