“Just look!” he whispered again, “the lobster has taken off his bib.”
But Lindsay would not look. He had never enjoyed Marchmont’s society less than at that very moment.
The details of the Eastham concert do not concern this narrative. The Eastham Relief Society for which the entertainment was given had sold tickets in blocks to the charitably inclined, so a good audience was assured in spite of the weather; and fewer people left the hall before the end of the performance than might perhaps have been expected. The Glee Club had the last number, and while they were struggling to keep on the key, and leave a parting impression of harmony rather than of discord on the ears of their patient hearers, the mandolinists were packing up their instruments and making ready for departure. Dearborn pressed his forehead against the window pane, and, sheltering his eyes with his hands, peered out into the darkness.
“It’s snowing again, by George! and the wind is howling to beat the band. I see where we’re going to get it in the neck on the way home.”
“That’s the Glee Club’s pianissimo you hear,” remarked Poole. “If it’s snowing, the chances are that it will be warmer.”
“It’s dirty mean to make us go back to-night in weather like this,” said Marchmont, taking a turn at the window. “We shall be frozen to death. We ought to stay over and go back in the morning. If Leighton weren’t such a dub, he’d let us do it.”
“I’d rather go back to-night,” said Poole. “And I can tell you one thing: if anything goes wrong on this trip, it will be the last permission the Glee and Mandolin clubs will get while you’re in school.”
“The way to make it go wrong is to drive down there with this load to-night,” retorted Marchmont. “Old Jim will be half full, and won’t know whether he’s in the road or on the fences.”
“Oh, shut up with your croaking!” called Planter, impatiently. “If you’re afraid of the cold, beg off, but don’t speak for the rest of us.”
The singers came pouring into the dressing room, excited and noisy. Mr. Leighton, who was detained a few minutes to receive the thanks of the Relief Society, appeared at the door to urge haste. “The barge will be here in ten minutes,” he said, “and we must not keep the horses waiting in the wind. Don’t forget anything.”