Bland muttered something under his breath and went away to the calf shed and reclined against it disgustedly, too sick from the exhaust in his face all the way to speak his mind.

“But Johnny!” Mary V was gasping.  “Why, I’m not ready or anything!”

“You can get ready afterwards.  There’s just one thing I ought to tell you, Mary V. If you do marry me, you can’t take anything from your dad.  I can’t buy you a new automobile for a while yet, but I’ll do the best I can.  The point is, your dad is not going to support you or do a thing for you.  If you’re willing to get along for a while on what I can earn, all right.  I guess you won’t starve, at that.”

“Well, but you said you wouldn’t get married, Johnny, until you’d paid—­”

“I changed my mind.  The best way is to settle the marrying part now.  I’ll do the paying fast enough.  Are you coming?”

Mary V climbed meekly out and permitted her abductor to lift her to the ground, and to kiss her twice before he let her go.  Events were moving so swiftly that Mary V was a bit dazed, and she did not argue the point, even when she remembered that a white middy suit was not her idea of the way a bride should be dressed.  The very boldness of Johnny’s proposition, its reckless disregard of the future, swept her along with him down the sandy side street which already held curious stragglers coming to see what new sensation the airplane could furnish.  These they passed without speaking, hurrying along, with Bland, like a footsore dog, trailing dejectedly after.

They passed the hotel and made straight for the county clerk’s office, too absorbed in their mission to observe that their passing had brought the three newspaper men from the hotel lobby.  Bland fell into step with one of these and gave the news.  The three scented a good story and hastened their steps.

In the county clerk’s office were two strangers who glanced significantly at each other when Johnny entered the room with Mary V close behind him and with Bland and the three reporters following like a bodyguard.

“Here they are,” said a short, fat man whom Mary V recognized vaguely as the sheriff.  He gave a little, satisfied, nickering kind of chuckle, and the sound of it irritated Johnny exceedingly.  “Old man’s a good guesser—­or else he knows these young ones pretty well.  Ha-ha.  Well, son, you can get any kind of license here yuh want, except a marriage license.”  Place a chuckle at the end of every sentence, and you will wonder with me what held Johnny Jewel from doing murder.

“And who the heck are you?” Johnny inquired with a deadly sort of calm.  “You ain’t half as funny as you look.  Get out.”  With a jab of his elbow he pushed the sheriff and his chuckle away, guessing that the man with an indoor complexion and a pen behind his ear was the clerk.  Him he addressed with businesslike bluntness.  He wanted a marriage license, and he could see no reason why he should not have it.  The man with the chuckle he chose to ignore, instinct telling him that haste was needful.