These and similar remarks filled the ears of the perplexed proprietor. He decided that whatever was done in this instance had better be done, contrary to his usual practice, beyond the hearing of the elect.
He rushed out to the waiting car. A smile was upon his face but it was not his usual one of hearty welcome. It spoke of hidden pain and anxiety.
“How do you do, Mr. Vivian,” Virginia courteously greeted the dispenser of toothsome delicacies. “I want you to meet these little people from the Lincoln Home.”
He cast a glance into the nest of the blackbirds. It lacked that interest with which new friends should be greeted. He felt the curious glances of the chosen, impinging against his back.
“They are hungry, Mr. Vivian. We have had a long ride and the children missed their lunch watching the parade. Each of us wants the nicest ice cream cone you can make. Seventeen, please.”
“Cones!” Light dawned in Mr. Vivian’s darkness.
“Bring them out, please?” Virginia begged.
“Out?” The clouds which had veiled the true Mr. Vivian rolled aside. Came sunshine and gladsome welcome.
In a moment the confectioner was behind his counter urging his assistants to diligence. In joyous relief, he shouted, “Make ’em big, boys. Make ’em big!”
Then, disregarding the feelings of the staring elect, Mr. Vivian hastened forth, bearing a box of cones. In a moment, with his kindest smile, encouraged by Virginia, he delivered with his own hand, to each infant, one of his products.