"I feel real tired," she said, quickly, "but if my husband wants to go—"
Her husband loudly disavowed any such aspiration.
"We got a long journey before us to-morrow," he said, "an' I guess we better rest."
They rested in the Berkeley corridor, amid the familiar sights and scenes. The following morning found them equally disinclined for sight-seeing. Seated in their favorite chairs, they watched the throngs of happy people who came and went around them. Henry had added to the list of his acquaintances two more travelling men and the boy at the news-counter. His wife had heard in detail the sad story of her chambermaid's life, and a few facts and surmises about fellow-guests at the hotel.
Maria drew a long sigh when, after they had paid their bill the next day and bade farewell to the clerk and other new friends, they climbed into the cab which was to take them to the station.
"My, but it was interestin'!" she said, softly; adding, with entire conviction, "Henry, I 'ain't never had such a good time in my hull life! I really 'ain't!"
"Neither have I," avowed Henry, truthfully. "Wasn't it jest bully!"
On the train a sudden thought occurred to Mrs. Smith.
"Henry," she began, uneasily, "s'pose any one asks what we've SEEN in New York. What'll we tell 'em? You know, somehow we didn't seem t' git time t' see much."
Henry Smith was equal to the emergency.