The leading actor at first hid his feelings behind his customary mask of dignified seriousness, whereas on the other hand the button dealer, an old buck who had grown gray in sin, regarded me with a sort of furtive interest, in which was an element of increased respect for my personality.
But when the anecdote began to take a somewhat precarious turn, it was suddenly interrupted by the clergyman, a kindly old man with a pious and childlike expression on his elderly smooth-shaven countenance.
“Pardon the interruption, my good brother, but”—and he turned a little in his chair so that he could direct his words at me—“how old, may I ask, is this young man? Has he been to Our Lord’s—to Communion?”
I felt that I flushed blood-red. I had forgotten that there was a clergyman in the company.
“Y-yes,” I stammered almost inaudibly. “I was confirmed last winter.”
“Indeed!” returned the old clergyman, while he slowly stirred his glass of toddy.
Then without looking up, in a voice which forty years of mediation between God and the world had impressed with the mild tone of tolerance and indulgence, he continued:
“Go on, my dear brother! Excuse the interruption!”
THE CLOWN
YESTERDAY a familiar face flitted by me on the street. It was pale and had a tired expression, but the features were sharp and strongly marked.