hands in his and was putting
his arm about her as he bellowed: "Girls--" his voice broke under its
heavy emotional load. "Why, dammit all, I'm your long-lost brother
George! Cap, kick me, kick me--me the prize jackass--the grand
sweepstake prize all these years!"

"No, no, George," protested the wriggling maiden. "Not--not here! Not--"

"Don't you 'no--no' me, Emmy Morton," roared the big man, pulling her to
his side. "Girl--girl, what do we care?" He gave her a resounding kiss
and gazed proudly around and exclaimed, "Ruthie, run and call up the
_Times_ and give 'em the news. Martha, call up old man Adams--and
I'll take a bell to-morrow and go calling it up and down Market Street.
Then, Cap, you tell Mrs. Herdicker. This is the big news." As he spoke
he was gathering the amazed Ruth and Martha under his wing and kissing
them, crying, "Take that one for luck--and that to grow on." Then he let
out his laugh. But in vain did Emma Morton try to squirm from his grasp;
in vain she tried to quiet his clatter. "Say, girls, cluster around
Brother George's knee--or knees--and let's plan the wedding."

"You are going to have a wedding, aren't you, Emma?" burst in Ruth, and
George cut in:

"Wedding--why, this is to be the big show--the laughing show, all the
wonders of the world and marvels of the deep under one canvas. Why,
girls--"

"Well, Emma, you've just got to wear a veil," laughed Martha
hysterically.

"Veil nothing--shame on you, Martha Morton. Why, George hasn't asked--"

"Now ain't it the truth!" roared Brotherton. "Why veil! Veil?" he
exclaimed. "She's going to wear seven veils and forty flower
girls--forty--count 'em--forty! And Morty Sands best man--"

"Keep still, George," interrupted Ruth. "Now, Emma, when--when, I say,
are you going to resign your school?"

Mr. Brotherton gave the youngest and most practical Miss Morton a look
of quick intelligence. "Don't you fret; Ruthie, I'm hog tied by the
silken skein of love. She's going to resign her school to-morrow."

"Indeed I am not, George Brotherton--and if you people don't hush--"

But Mr. Brotherton interrupted the bride-to-be, incidentally kissing her
by way of punctuation, and boomed on in his poster tone, "Morty Sands
best man with his gym class from South Harvey doing ground and lofty
tumbling up and down the aisles in pink tights. Doc Jim in linen pants
whistling the Wedding March to Kenyon Adams's violin obligato, with the
General hitting the bones