McCann seized it and dived into the cabin, followed closely by my client and those of us who could push after.  He tore open the envelope, his eye ran over the lines, and then he began to slap his thigh and turn around in a circle, like a man dazed.

“Whiskey!” shouted Mr. Cooke.  “Get him a glass of Scotch!”

But McCann held up his hand.

“Holy Saint Patrick!” he said, in a husky voice, “it’s upset I am, bottom upwards.  Will ye listen to this?”

   “’Drew is your man.  Reddish hair and long side whiskers, gray
   clothes.  Pretends to represent summer hotel syndicate.  Allen at
   Asquith unknown and harmless.

   “’ (Signed.) Everhardt."’

“Sew me up,” said Mr. Cooke; “if that don’t beat hell!”

CHAPTER XXI

In this world of lies the good and the bad are so closely intermingled that frequently one is the means of obtaining the other.  Therefore, I wish very freely to express my obligations to the Celebrity for any share he may have had in contributing to the greatest happiness of my life.

Marian and I were married the very next month, October, at my client’s palatial residence of Mohair.  This was at Mr. Cooke’s earnest wish:  and since Marian was Mrs. Cooke’s own niece, and an orphan, there seemed no good reason why my client should not be humored in the matter.  As for Marian and me, we did not much care whether we were married at Mohair or the City of Mexico.  Mrs. Cooke, I think, had a secret preference for Germantown.

Mr. Cooke quite over-reached himself in that wedding.  “The knot was tied,” as the papers expressed it, “under a huge bell of yellow roses.”  The paper also named the figure which the flowers and the collation and other things cost Mr. Cooke.  A natural reticence forbids me to repeat it.  But, lest my client should think that I undervalue his kindness, I will say that we had the grandest wedding ever seen in that part of the world.  McCann was there, and Mr. Cooke saw to it that he had a punchbowl all to himself in which to drink our healths:  Judge Short was there, still followed by the conjugal eye:  and Senator Trevor, who remained over, in a new long black coat to kiss the bride.  Mr. Cooke chartered two cars to carry guests from the East, besides those who came as ordinary citizens.  Miss Trevor was of the party, and Farrar, of course, was best man.  Would that I had the flow of words possessed by the reporter of the Chicago Sunday newspaper!

But there is one thing I must mention before Mrs. Crocker and I leave for New York, in a shower of rice, on Mr. Cooke’s own private car, and that is my client’s gift.  In addition to the check he gave Marian, he presented us with a huge, ‘repousse’ silver urn he had had made to order, and he expressed a desire that the design upon it should remind us of him forever and ever.  I think it will.  Mercury is duly set forth in a gorgeous equipage, driving four horses around the world at a furious pace; and the artist, by special instructions, had docked their tails.