“But, Abby, don’t ye see?” he urged. “We’ve come so fer, seems as though we oughter do the rest all right. Now, you jest set here an’ let me go an’ find out how ter git there. We’ll try fer Bunker Hill first, ’cause we want ter see the munurmunt sure.”
He rose to his feet only to be pulled back by his wife.
“Hezekiah Warden!” she almost sobbed. “If you dare ter stir ten feet away from me I’ll never furgive ye as long as I live. We’d never find each other ag’in!”
“Well, well, Abby,” soothed the man with grim humor, “if we never found each other ag’in, I don’t see as ’twould make much diff’rence whether ye furgived me or not!”
For another long minute they silently watched the crowd. Then Hezekiah squared his shoulders.
“Come, come, Abby,” he said, “this ain’t no way ter do. Only think how we wanted ter git here an’ now we’re here an’ don’t dare ter stir. There ain’t any less folks than there was--growin’ worse, if anythin’--but I’m gittin’ used ter ’em now, an’ I’m goin’ ter make a break. Come, what would Mr. Livin’stone say if he could see us now? Where’d he think our boastin’ was about our bein’ able ter enj’y ourselves? Come!” And once more he rose to his feet.
This time he was not held back. The little woman at his side adjusted her bonnet, tilted up her chin, and in her turn rose to her feet.
“Sure enough!” she quavered bravely. “Come, Hezekiah, we’ll ask the way ter Bunker Hill.” And, holding fast to her husband’s coat sleeve, she tripped across the floor to one of the outer doors.
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.