Sinopsis

"Seven weeks and then the wedding bells will get busy for you, eh, Bunch?" I chuckled. "Surest thing you know," my old pal Jefferson replied, somewhat dolefully. "I must dig up a few old shoes and have a plate of cold rice pudding on the doorstep," I went on. "It's going to afford me a bunch of keen delight to soak you in the midriff with a rusty patent leather and then push a few rice fritters in under your coat collar, believe me!" Bunch tried to pull a smile, but his face didn't feel like working, and the finish was a mournful sigh.