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Beardsley of New Haven; the Rev. Messrs. E. W. Babcock, New Haven; Prof. John Binney, Middletown; J. W. Bradin, Hartford; Sylvester Clarke, Bridgeport; Francis Goodwin, Hartford; F. D. Harriman, Middle Haddam; Prof. Samuel Hart, Hartford; J. W. Hyde, West Hartford; Prof. W. A. Johnson, Middletown; W. F. Nichols, Hartford; J. L. Parks, Middletown; Prof.
John Binney, Middletown; L. P. Bissell, Litchfield; C. W. Boylston, Greeneville; J. W. Bradin, Hartford; F. W. Brathwaite, Stamford; George Buck, North Haven; W. B. Buckingham, New London; W. H. Bulkley, Tashua; C. C. Camp, New Haven; H. S. Clapp, Norwalk; C. W. Colton, Pine Meadow; Prof.
Baker were waiting for him on the sidewalk, and when they reached the corner where the interurban trolley car stopped to take on passengers, they found Perry Phelps and Jimmie Butterworth and Leslie Bradin and Carleton Marsh, each with a box of lunch under his arm. "Going to Europe?" said the conductor, as he watched them climb into his car. "Let them off at Lane's Corners," he repeated, as Mr.
J. W. Bradin, Rector of the Parish. PSALM lxxviii. 72. "So he fed them according to the integrity of his heart; and guided them by the skilfulness of his hands." The seventy-eighth psalm contains a rapid review of the history of the chosen people from the day when God led them out of Egypt "with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm," down to the time of David.
Sunny Boy was made a general for one side, and Oliver took the other. Perry Phelps and Jimmie Butterworth were on Sunny Boy's side and Jessie Smiley and Dorothy Peters. There were three other boys and two more girls in his army, too. Helen Graham, of course, was on Oliver's side, and Carleton Marsh and Leslie Bradin. Lottie Carr and her sister were on his side, also, and four other boys.
"They've gone home to eat their dinner," said Sunny Boy. "Let's leave the pussy willows under this tree. Mr. Parkney said he would be back by half-past one, you know." "I'm starving," declared Leslie Bradin. "Come on, let's eat now. My mother put two stuffed eggs in my box." Seven very hungry small boys may dispose of seven hearty lunches in almost seven minutes.
He was loosely fat with little twinkling eyes, and, having removed his collar and tie, he gave the impression of a Middle-Western farmer on a Sunday afternoon. "This is my sister," said Henry. "She dropped in to see me." "How do you do?" said the fat man, smiling. "My name's Bartholomew, Miss Bradin. I know your brother has forgotten it long ago." Edith laughed politely.
"Bring him to my place!" exclaimed Stephen in surprise. "What can we do for him there?" "Won't he need the doctor?" "Yes, he may. But we can't go all the way to Bradin now." "Guess you won't have to do that." "Why, what do you mean?" "He's at the Stickles'." "At the Stickles'?" "Yep. The little girl got hurt, so we went after the doctor." "Oh, I see I see now," Stephen mused.
Edith Bradin was falling in love with her recollection of Gordon Sterrett. So she came out of the dressing-room at Delmonico's and stood for a second in the doorway looking over the shoulders of a black dress in front of her at the groups of Yale men who flitted like dignified black moths around the head of the stairs.
For all her sleek beauty, Edith was a grave, slow-thinking girl. There was a streak in her of that same desire to ponder, of that adolescent idealism that had turned her brother socialist and pacifist. Henry Bradin had left Cornell, where he had been an instructor in economies, and had come to New York to pour the latest cures for incurable evils into the columns of a radical weekly newspaper.
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