Mrs. Goodloe snapped him up on that like a fish taking a fly.
"Show him your divorce paper, Malvina!"
Trembling, but eager to vindicate herself, Malvina left the table. Texas stood in the door watching it all, ashamed for the bridegroom, who sat there and allowed such gross insults to be heaped upon himself, his bride, their guests.
Malvina came back in three jumps, the paper in her trembling hand. The minister passed it on to Smith, and Mrs. Goodloe made a noise of exultation that sounded as if she tried to crow.
Smith ran his red eyes over the document, grunting now and then. When he had made a speedy end of his inspection he looked hard at the bride, who was standing with her hand on her new husband's shoulder as if to assure him that she would die at his feet before harm should come to one hair of that oiled and scented head.
"It ain't worth hell room!" said Smith. He tore the precious paper across, threw the pieces on the floor, set his spurred heel on them with stamp of contempt.
"Sir—" the minister began.
"You can't divorce a man without servin' notice on him," Smith declared, and with such an amount of judicial severity, judicial certainty, in his tone
