"In a few minutes Paisley gallops up the aisle, putting on a cuff as
he comes. He explains that the only dry-goods store in town was closed
for the wedding, and he couldn't get the kind of a boiled shirt that
his taste called for until he had broke open the back window of the
store and helped himself. Then he ranges up on the other side of the
bride, and the wedding goes on. I always imagined that Paisley
calculated as a last chance that the preacher might marry him to the
widow by mistake.

"After the proceedings was over we had tea and jerked antelope and
canned apricots, and then the populace hiked itself away. Last of all
Paisley shook me by the hand and told me I'd acted square and on the
level with him and he was proud to call me a friend.

"The preacher had a small house on the side of the street that he'd
fixed up to rent; and he allowed me and Mrs. Hicks to occupy it till
the ten-forty train the next morning, when we was going on a bridal
tour to El Paso. His wife had decorated it all up with hollyhocks and
poison ivy, and it looked real festal and bowery.

"About ten o'clock that night I sets down in the front door and pulls
off my boots a while in the cool breeze, while Mrs. Hicks was fixing
around in the room. Right soon the light went out inside; and I sat
there a while reverberating over old times and scenes. And then I
heard Mrs. Hicks call out, 'Ain't you coming in soon, Lem?'

"'Well, well!' says I, kind of rousing up. 'Durn me if I wasn't
waiting for old Paisley to--'