The waiter coughed and turned his back. Then,
the blessing concluded, Hezekiah raised his head and smiled.
"Well, well, Abby, why don't ye say somethin'?" he asked, breaking the
silence. "Ye hain't said a word. Mr. Livin'stone'll be thinkin' ye don't
like it."
Mrs. Warden drew a long breath of delight.
"I can't say anythin', Hezekiah," she faltered. "It's all so beautiful."
Livingstone waited until the dazed old eyes had become in a measure
accustomed to the surroundings, then he turned a smiling face on
Hezekiah.
"And now, my friend, what do you propose to do after luncheon?" he
asked.
"Well, we cal'late ter take in Bunker Hill an' Faneuil Hall sure,"
returned the old man with a confidence that told of new courage imbibed
with his tea. "Then we thought mebbe we'd ride in the subway an' hear
one of the big preachers if they happened ter be holdin' meetin's
anywheres this week. Mebbe you can tell us, eh?"
Across the table the man called Harding choked over his food and
Livingstone frowned.
"Well," began Livingstone slowly.
"I think," interrupted Harding, taking a newspaper from his pocket, "I
think there are services there," he finished gravely, pointing to the
glaring advertisement of a ten-cent show, as he handed the paper across
to Livingstone.
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