"You've made a mistake, Mr. Sawyer. This is a hundred dollar bill."
"It ought to be a thousand. I'll send you a check for the difference
to-morrow--for yourself, or your church, as you prefer."
As they descended the steps, the clergyman raised his hands.
"I wish you both long life and prosperity, and may Heaven's blessing
fall upon you."
"Back to the 'Cawthorne,'" said Quincy, as he pressed a small roll of
paper into the _chauffeur's_ hand--which roll of paper a friendly
street light showed to be a five dollar bill.
"What will that horrid Mr. Cass say?"
"I'll fix him," replied Quincy. "Just await developments, patiently,
my dear."
It was a quarter of eleven when they reached the hotel. Mr. Cass was
at his desk, the light turned down in anticipation of the closing
hour.
"The certificate, darling," Quincy whispered.
"Please turn up the light, Mr. Cass, and read that."
Mr. Cass adjusted his _pince-nez_. Quincy was relentless. His turn
had come.
"Is that in proper form, Mr. Cass? I know your rules are strict, and
that your employer holds you to them tenaciously," and there was a
strong accent on the last word.
"Would your reverend employer object to your harbouring a newly-
married couple for one night? Show him your wedding ring, Mrs.
Sawyer. We must satisfy his moral scruples."
Mr. Cass regarded them attentively.
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