wondered if her heart had been set on the barber, and if this could be her lament and renunciation. But whatever sentiment might have inspired the selection, she followed it unwaveringly to the end, where:
The bride up-on his ar-r-m—"
and her heart—the composer's, not Miss Viney's—broke right on the spot, without being able to put it off until dawn.
They applauded Miss Viney with hearty hands. If anybody besides Texas was struck by the humorous inaptitude of the selection it was not the bridegroom, indeed. He was loudest of the loud in his clamor for more, and he turned to Texas as Miss Viney swung round on the stool and began the prelude to another tune.
"That's what I call music," said he.
Texas nodded. Mr. Noggle leaned over, coming so close to Texas that the perfume on his hair was almost overwhelming.
"Whan she throws that mouth of hern wide open you can see her appetite," he said, "but she can sing to a fare-you-well!"
Texas was tired, for he had taken the road before dawn of that eventful and long-drawn day.
