“You’re ripping, Anne; that’s what you are.  I—­Great Scotland!  Here comes the head-waiter, but we don’t dare show ourselves.  Did you ever know such beastly luck?”

“There’s another man too, away back there.  And, look!  Isn’t that a light coming through the trees back of the gravestones?  Good Heavens, Harry, we can’t be married in a public thoroughfare.  Everybody is walking with lanterns.  It’s awful.”

“Let’s go around to the rear of the church,” he exclaimed suddenly.  “Perhaps we can get our brains to work on a plan of action.  But, look here, Anne, no matter who they are or what they want, I’m going to marry you to-night if I have to do it in the face of the entire crowd.”

As they scurried off through the tall wet grass to a less exposed station, a solitary figure came haltingly through the little gate.  It was the head-waiter, and, as he carried no lantern, he was compelled to light matches now and then; after getting his bearings he would dart resolutely on for a dozen paces before lighting another.  Stopping in front of the church door, he nervously tried to penetrate the gloom with an anxious gaze; then, suddenly bethinking, he gave three timid little coughs.  Getting no immediate response, he growled aloud in his wrath: 

“I’ve coughed my head off in front of every house between here and the hotel, and I’m gettin’ darned tired of it.  I don’t like this business; and I never could stand for graveyards.  Good Lord! what’s that?”

Three sharp whistles came to his alert ears, coming, it seemed, from the very heart of some grim old gravestone.  A man strode boldly across the yard from the gate, his walk indicating that he was perfectly familiar with the lay of the land.

“Who coughed?” he demanded loudly.  “Is there no one here?  What the dickens does it mean?  Joe Dauntless!  Where are you?  No fooling now; my wife’s worse, and I can’t stay here all night.”  He whistled again, and the head-waiter coughed in a bewildered reply.  “That’s queer.  Nothing was said about coughing.”

“Hello!” called the head-waiter.  “Is it you, sir?”

Joe Dauntless’s cousin held his lantern on high and finally discovered the waiter near the pile of cordwood, ready to run at a moment’s notice.

“Who are you?” demanded Mr. Carpenter.

“Gustave.  But you ain’t the man.”

“I ain’t, eh?  Didn’t you whistle a minute ago?”

“I ain’t supposed to.  I cough.  Say, do you know if a wedding has taken place here?  I am a witness.”

“Oh, I see.  He said he’d bring one.  Are you alone?”

“I don’t know.  It feels like a crowd every time I cough.  Are you the preacher?”

“No, I’m the bridegroom’s cousin.  We’ve got to get in through a window.  I couldn’t find my key.  Would you mind giving me a leg?”

“A leg?  Nothing was said about legs,” said the waiter, moving away.  Carpenter laughed.

“I mean a boost up to the window.”