Two Much! by Donald E. Westlake

pardon?”
    He frowned, looked puzzled, glanced around at the others, and suddenly flashed a wide insincere smile, saying to me, “No last-minute doubts, eh?”
    â€œNo, sir,” I said. Not of the marriage, anyway.
    â€œFine, fine.” He went through the forms one more time, gave us all a swift keen look of disapproval, and rapped out, “Bailiff!”
    The door popped open and a worried-looking gent popped in. “Yes, sir, your honor?” He was about thirty, covered with a layer of baby fat, and with dandruff sprinkled like monosodium glutamate on his black-clad shoulders.
    Having called in this flunky, the judge seemed unsure what to do with him. “Mm,” he said, hefted the marriage papers in his hand, dropped them on the desk, and pointed vaguely toward a far corner, saying, “You just be, um, present.”
    â€œYes, sir, your honor.”
    So the bailiff went off to stand in the corner, like something from a New England ghost story, while Judge Reagensniffer married us. First he got up and drew a slim volume from the shelves of lawbooks behind his desk, and then he spent an endless period of time arranging the four of us in some precise pattern in the middle of the room. “A bit to the right. You come forward a step; no, not that much.” Was this a judge or a photographer?
    Well, the arranging finally came to an end, the judge stood in front of us flipping pages in his book till at last he found the right place, and then, one finger in the book to mark his intention, he said, “I usually preface these ceremonies with a few introductory remarks.”
    A spectral throat-clearing took place in the corner. We all jumped.
    â€œMarriage,” the judge told us, “is a frail bark on the stormy sea of life. It is not to be undertaken lightly. And those who do, and who don’t watch their steps, can’t expect to be treated lightly either. I’m the same man in these chambers that I am on the bench. I’m willing to listen to explanations, but I firmly believe in the letter of the law.” He fixed us with his bird-eyes. “Well? Anything to say to that?”
    We all made uneasy movements. This wasn’t quite the ceremony any of us had had in mind. Finally, to break the awkward silence, I said, “Your honor, we still want to get married.”
    â€œMarried,” he said, as though it were a new and possibly interesting word. Then he blinked, looked at the book impaled on his finger, and said, “Ah, yes, married. Those who enter upon the married state take unto themselves a strong partner, a companion through the shoals and rapids of life. Two are stronger than one, a companionship, a giving and receiving of strength. And for there to be a conspiracy, no overt act needs to take place. Only the intention of the individuals to conspire together. Is that clear?”
    Not to me, Jack. This time it was Betty who worked at getting us back on the right track, saying, “Your honor, we intend to conspire together and love together and remain together forever.”
    â€œYes, indeed,” the judge said. “A permanent bond.” He hesitated; was he going to say a life term ? No, he fell the other way. “So we might as well get on with it,” he said, opened his book, and with no more preamble went directly into the wedding ritual. He read it briskly, almost angrily, as though explaining our rights to us before passing sentence, and we made the appropriate responses in the appropriate locations. Betty looked misty-eyed throughout, and I did my best to look solemn and trustworthy.
    â€œâ€¦ I now declare you man and wife. Bailiff, take them away.”
    And so I was married. Bride and groom were kissed by the witnesses. Hands were shaken. I passed a sealed envelope to the judge, making sure Betty saw me do it. Everyone was pleased by that, but then again they probably all thought the envelope contained money. Its sole