Dr. C. Isn’t your doings? Then whose is it? I don’t understand it. Surely Mrs. Robinson doesn’t countenance such folly!
Dea. R. She doesn’t know anything about it.
Dr. C. No; I thought not.
Dea. R. (a little vexed). If you won’t be in such a hurry, Dr. Cummings, I’ll explain it all. You see I came over to Rossville last evening and put up here. I went to bed early, but about midnight there was a cry of fire. I slipped on my overcoat, and went into the entry to learn whether it was near by. In a few minutes I heard that it was a false alarm. I hurried back to my room, which I couldn’t have been out of more’n ten minutes, and locked my door. Then I went to bed and to sleep. When I waked in the morning my old clothes, which have done me such faithful service, were gone, and these were left in their place.
Dr. C. How do you suppose they came there?
Dea. R. It is my opinion that my friends in Rossville, knowing that I was to attend a convention, took this way of presenting me with a new and fashionable suit of clothes.
Dr. C. (shaking his head). It’s a strange story.
(Enter Mrs. R. R. She starts back, surprised at the appearance of her husband.)
Mrs. Robinson (sharply). I should like to know, Deacon Robinson, what has put it into your head to dress in this ridiculous style; you, a man most sixty years old!
Dea. R. I’m only fifty-eight.