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Tabb and Miss Hoogencamp, the two middle-aged gossips from Scranton, Pa. out of Mr. and Mrs. Biggle, an indurated head-bookkeeper and his prim and censorious wife out of old Major Halkit, a retired business man, who, having once sold a few shares on commission, wrote for circulars of every stock company that was started, and tried to induce every one to invest who would listen to him?
They came down to breakfast somewhat late, and, as soon as they arrived, the Biggleses swooped up the last fragments that remained on their plates, and made a stately march out of the dining-room, Then Miss Hoogencamp arose and departed, leaving a whole fish-ball on her plate.
And then we wandered out to take our morning glance at what we called "our view"; and it seemed to us as if Tabb and Hoogencamp and Halkit and the Biggleses could not drive us away in a year. I was not surprised when, after breakfast, my wife invited the Bredes to walk with us to "our view."
"A good deal like looking at humanity," he said; "there is such a thing as getting so far above our fellow men that we see only one side of them." Ah, how much better was this sort of talk than the chatter and gossip of the Tabb and the Hoogencamp than the Major's dissertations upon his everlasting circulars! My wife and I exchanged glances. "Now, when I went up the Matterhorn" Mr. Brede began.
Even as Atalanta might have dropped an apple behind her to tempt her pursuer to check his speed, so Miss Hoogencamp left that fish-ball behind her, and between her maiden self and contamination. We had finished our breakfast, my wife and I, before the Bredes appeared. We talked it over, and agreed that we were glad that we had not been obliged to take sides upon such insufficient testimony.
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