They returned, wondering what the matter was, and Clinton, at least, feeling a little alarmed at such a stern call. They stood, just inside the door, about a minute, before Mr. Davenport spoke; and then, lifting his eyes from the paper, in a very sedate manner, he said:
“Good morning, boys.”
“Good morning, sir,” replied the boys, in a somewhat reserved and confused manner.
Another awkward pause followed, during which Mr. Davenport was engrossed with his paper. Whistler at length inquired:
“Is that all, father?”
“That is all,—what more would you have?” replied his father, a twinkle of fun now appearing in his eyes, and about the corners of his mouth.
They left him to the quiet enjoyment of his joke and his paper, and went into the dining-room, as the apartment was called where the meals of the family were spread. There they found Mrs. Davenport, assisting in putting the breakfast upon the table, while Ettie, Whistler’s little sister, was arranging the chairs. These, with Margaret, the domestic, constituted the whole of Mr. Davenport’s family at this time.
The breakfast-bell was rung, and the family gathered around the table, and soon commenced a lively conversation, much of which was addressed to Clinton.
“I believe this is your first appearance in Boston, Clinton,” observed Mr. Davenport.
“Yes, sir, it is,” replied Clinton.