Mr. Bludgeon stopped. He had heard a giggle of hilarity that could no longer be repressed. The company, among whom Simonson and his belongings had of course been under free discussion ever since they had sat down to the tables, fairly exploded with delight.
Mr. Bludgeon hemmed, hawed, colored—finally took his seat. Mrs. Stratton hastily left the room. Mrs. Grindstone and Miss Bennett, sat on, mute, unrevealing as two Sphinxes—but evidently not offended beyond hope of recovery.
Some time after Mr. Bludgeon’s visit to Sutphen had begun to pass into tradition, poor Simonson’s establishment in Main Street was shut up. He had dragged along for some time; but, lacking customers, finally decided to pack up his onion-pattern china, and the rest, and had emigrated to a more promising field for a caterer’s operations. The day of his great success had proved his Waterloo.
Mrs. Grindstone is now the President of the Sutphen Literary Club—vice Mrs. Chauncey Stratton resigned and gone abroad. Miss Bennett is still the Secretary. Mr. Grindstone’s gas bills remain reasonably low.
LEANDER OF BETSY’S PRIDE