Minister Orton laughed explosively and relinquished his steely grip.
“How’d you get so strong?” asked James.
“I built a lot of churches. And some cabins for poor folks.”
“You broke up the logs with your bare hands?”
Another guffaw erupted from the gaping orifice in the minister’s beard, reverberated in the enclosure, and rose to the belfry, where the bronze bell to buzzed with metallic humor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Wedding Marshals
At a quarter after nine the guests began to arrive for the service, which would start at ten o’clock. Oswell took the signatures of all comers prior to their admittance. One person, an Oriental named Snappy Fa, scratched a weird glyph next to his name, and another fellow, an illiterate oldster named Paps, scribbled a cross (perhaps meaning for it to be
