And over all, in approving benediction, brooded the wide smile of the greatest of statesmen and the great smile of the widest of statesmen—­ these two, metaphorically, hand in hand, floated high above their people, scattering encouraging blessings on every bride.

A tremendous rise in values set in; the newly married required homes; architects were rushed to death; builders, real-estate operators, brokers, could not handle the business hurled at them by impatient bridegrooms.

Then, seizing time by the fetlock, some indescribable monster secured the next ten years’ output of go-carts.  The sins of Standard Oil were forgotten in the menace of such a national catastrophe; mothers’ meetings were held; the excitement became stupendous; a hundred thousand brides invaded the Attorney-General’s office, but all he could think of to say was:  “Thirty centuries look down upon you!”

These vague sentiments perplexed the country.  People understood that the Government meant well, but they also realized that the time was not far off when millions of go-carts would be required in the United States.  And they no longer hesitated.

All over the Union fairs and bazaars were held to collect funds for a great national factory to turn out carts.  Alarmed, the Trust tried to unload; militant womanhood, thoroughly aroused, scorned compromise.  In every city, town, and hamlet of the nation entertainments were given, money collected for the great popular go-cart factory.

The affair planned for Oyster Bay was to be particularly brilliant—­a water carnival at Center Island with tableaux, fireworks, and illuminations of all sorts.

Reassured by the magnificent attitude of America’s womanhood, business discounted the collapse of the go-cart trust and began to recover from the check very quickly.  Stocks advanced, fluctuated, and suddenly whizzed upward like skyrockets; and the long-expected wave of prosperity inundated the country.  On the crest of it rode Cupid, bow and arrows discarded, holding aloft in his right hand a Destyn-Carr machine.

For the old order of things had passed away; the old-fashioned doubts and fears of courtship were now practically superfluous.

Anybody on earth could now buy a ticket and be perfectly certain that whoever he or she might chance to marry would be the right one—­the one intended by destiny.

Yet, strange as it may appear, there still remained, here and there, a few young people in the United States who had no desire to be safely provided for by a Destyn-Carr machine.

Whether there was in them some sporting instinct, making hazard attractive, or, perhaps, a conviction that Fate is kind, need not be discussed.  The fact remains that there were a very few youthful and marriageable folk who had no desire to know beforehand what their fate might be.

One of these unregenerate reactionists was Flavilla.  To see her entire family married by machinery was enough for her; to witness such consummate and collective happiness became slightly cloying.  Perfection can be overdone; a rift in a lute relieves melodious monotony, and when discords cease to amuse, one can always have the instrument mended or buy a banjo.