gardenias provided by the groom.

It is the duty of the best man to dress the bridegroom for the
wedding. As you enter his room you see, lying half-dressed on the
bed, a pale, wan, emaciated creature, who is staring fixedly at
the ceiling. It is the happy bridegroom. His lips open. He speaks
feebly. "What time is it?" he says. You reply, "Two-thirty, old
man. Time to start getting dressed." "Oh, my God!" says the
groom. Ten minutes pass. "What time is it?" says the groom.
"Twenty of three," you reply. "Here's your shirt." "Oh, my God!"
says the groom.

He takes the shirt and tries to put it on. You help him. "Better
have a little Scotch, old man," you say. "What time is it?" he
replies. "Five of three," you say. "Oh, my God!" says the groom.

At three-thirty you and he are dressed in cutaways and promptly
at three-forty-two you arrive at the church. You are ushered into
a little side room where it is your duty to sit with the corpse
for the few brief hours which elapse between three-forty-five and
four o'clock. Occasionally he stirs and a faint spark of life
seems to struggle in his sunken eyes. His lips move feebly. You
bend over to catch his dying words. "Have--you--got --the ring?"
he whispers. "Yes," you reply. "Everything's fine. You look
great, too, old man." The sound of the organ reaches your ears.
The groom groans. "Have you got the ring?" he says.

Meanwhile the ushers have been performing their duty of showing
the invited guests to the various pews. A correctly trained usher
will always have ready some cheery word or sprightly bit of