was goin' to kiss the bride--mebbe I did kiss her--only I'd likely
remember it if I had, drunk or sober! And--oh, now I got it!" Bill's
voice was full of elation. "You was goin' to kiss the bride--that was
it, it was you goin' to kiss her, and she slap--no, by hokey, she
didn't slap you, she just--or was it Rock, now?" Doubt filled his eyes
distressfully. "Darn my everlastin' hide," he finished lamely, "there
was some kissin' somew'ere in the deal, and I mind her cryin'
afterwards, but whether it was about that, or--Say, Sandy, what was it
Ford was lickin' the preacher for? Wasn't it for kissin' the bride?"

"It was for marrying him to her," Sandy informed him sententiously.

Ford got up and went to the little window and looked out. Presently he
came back to the stove and stood staring disgustedly down upon the
effusively friendly Bill, leering up at him pacifically.

"If I didn't feel so rotten," he said glumly, "I'd give you another
licking right now, Bill--you boozing old devil. I'd like to lick every
darned galoot that stood back and let me in for this. You'd ought to
have stopped me. You'd oughta pounded the face off me before you let me
do such a fool thing. That," he said bitterly, "shows how much a man can
bank on his friends!"

"It shows," snorted Bill indignantly, "how much he can bank on
himself!"

"On whisky, to let him in for all kinds uh trouble," revised Sandy
virtuously. Sandy had a stomach which invariably rebelled at the second
glass and therefore, remaining always sober perforce, he took to himself
great credit for his morality.