"I think not," she replied. "We will be consistent, anyway. I am quite puzzled about the matter, but I will venture to assert that you will not find Mr. Earle, nor several others I might mention, at the hall tonight; and I have no doubt there will be a great deal of closet prayer this evening. And, Lewie, you know this doesn't prove anything against the power and importance of prayer. It may show that too low an estimate is put upon its value, but nothing more."
"Well, Lew," said Duncan, as they reached Mr. Wynn's store, where Mabel sought an escort for her homeward walk, "what are we going to do now? I'm afloat."
"Upon a sea of nothingness?" asked Lewie. "Well, I don't know, I'm sure. Hang around a spell, and then go home, I suppose."
"Hang around!" repeated Mabel to herself. "Yes, and be snapped up by Satan in some of his guises. No, that won't do," and her thoughts travelled quickly, seeking a remedy for the evil. She had intended to go directly home and spend the evening in her own room, but now she changed her mind very suddenly.
"See here," she said, "suppose we go around and spend an hour with Henry Trafton."
"All right! Superexcellent!" exclaimed Duncan. "If we can't go to prayer-meeting, we will visit the sick. What say, Lew?"
"I don't care. Yes, I'd like it," answered Lewie.
Henry, who had so far improved as to be able to move about his room by means of an invalid's chair, welcomed them warmly, and they spent a quiet evening together, safe from the vices and temptations of the street.
But where was Perry Morse? Sauntering down street, he met Nick Turner, an out-and-out loafer, who called out—
"Halloo! I say, Morse, how do you happen to be in the street this time of day?"