Ephraim laid down his knife and fork for the first time. Were the wonders of this journey never to cease? And Jethro, once in his life, looked nervous.
“Er—er—Cyn'thy'll go, Steve—Cynthy'll go.”
“Yes, Cynthy'll go,” laughed Mr. Merrill, “and you'll go, and Ephraim'll go.” Although he by no means liked everybody, as would appear at first glance, Mr. Merrill had a way of calling people by their first names when he did fancy them.
“Er—Steve,” said Jethro, “what would your wife say if I was to drink coffee out of my saucer?”
“Let's see,” said Mr. Merrill grave for once. “What's the punishment for that in my house? I know what she'd do if you didn't drink it. What do you think she'd do, Cynthy?”
“Ask him what was the matter with it,” said Cynthia, promptly.
“Well, Cynthy,” said he, “I know why these old fellows take you round with 'em. To take care of 'em, eh? They're not fit to travel alone.”
And so it was settled, after much further argument, that they were all to sup at Mr. Merrill's house, Cynthia stoutly maintaining that she would not desert them. And then Mr. Merrill, having several times repeated the street and number, went, back to his office. There was much mysterious whispering between Ephraim and Jethro in the hotel parlor after dinner, while Cynthia was turning over the leaves of a magazine, and then Ephraim proposed going out to see the sights.
“Where's Uncle Jethro going?” she asked.
“He'll meet us,” said Ephraim, promptly, but his voice was not quite steady.