“Why, the whole town is talking of nothing but Von Frauenstein and his great workmen’s palace,” said Mrs. Burnham; “and, do you know, there are over fifty men at work already, and to-day they had a banquet. My boys were over there, and all the afternoon they’ve been dinning Too Soon into my ears. He wanted to know the names of everything, and it wasn’t enough for them to tell him, but they actually helped him wipe his dishes. I’ve forbidden them to ever go there again.”
“Oh, let them go,” said Burnham. “I haven’t seen Charlie so well for months. The excitement is innocent, and much better than he will get in the streets.” While they were talking, Kendrick was very unceremoniously walking up and down the drawing-room with his hands behind him. Pretty soon he stopped short before the company.
“Burnham,” said he, “we are old fogies. We’ve let the world get way ahead of us. I saw a sight to-day such as I never expected to see, to say the least.”
“Oh, you were over there too, were you? Do tell us about it,” said his wife.
“Why there were tables set for over fifty—snowy linen, napkins, silver forks, beautiful white china, and I’ll swear if most of the men didn’t eat as decorously as those at my own table.”
“I shouldn’t have thought they would like spectators,” said Burnham.
“Spectators! Bless your soul! I was invited to lunch with them.”
“Goodness! Did you ever hear of such assurance! What did you do?” asked Mrs. Burnham.
“Why, I accepted.” The ladies both uttered exclamations of amazement. “What could I do? There was Frauenstein just about to sit down. I couldn’t pretend I had lunched. Everybody knew better, and wherever Frauenstein could hob-nob, I ought to be able to.”
“But you couldn’t eat anything, of course,” said Mrs. Burnham.