On the sidewalk Mr. and Mrs. Hezekiah Warden came once more to a halt.
Before them swept an endless stream of cars, carriages, and people.
Above thundered the elevated railway cars.
"Oh-h," shuddered Abigail and tightened her grasp on her husband's coat.
It was some minutes before Hezekiah's dry tongue and lips could frame
his question, and then his words were so low-spoken and indistinct that
the first two men he asked did not hear. The third man frowned and
pointed to a policeman. The fourth snapped: "Take the elevated for
Charlestown or the trolley-cars, either;" all of which served but to
puzzle Hezekiah the more.
Little by little the dazed old man and his wife fell back before the
jostling crowds. They were quite against the side of the building when
Livingstone spoke to them.
"Well, well, if here aren't my friends again!" he exclaimed cordially.
There was something of the fierceness of a drowning man in the way
Hezekiah took hold of that hand.
"Mr. Livin'stone!" he cried; then he recollected himself. "We was
jest goin' ter Bunker Hill," he said jauntily.
"Yes?" smiled Livingstone. "But your luncheon--aren't you hungry? Come
with me; I was just going to get mine."
"But you--I--" Hezekiah paused and looked doubtingly at his wife.
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