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Though he was in rebellion, naturally Babbitt did not care to be seen talking with such a fanatic, but in all the Pullmans he could find no other acquaintance, and reluctantly he halted. Seneca Doane was a slight, thin-haired man, rather like Chum Frink except that he hadn't Frink's grin. He was reading a book called "The Way of All Flesh."
They startled as some one drew a strained breath. In the dusty light from the hall they looked unreal, they felt disembodied. Mrs. Gunch squeaked, and they jumped with unnatural jocularity, but at Frink's hiss they sank into subdued awe. Suddenly, incredibly, they heard a knocking. They stared at Frink's half-revealed hands and found them lying still.
"Miss DeWolf wants me to go to Chimney Rock immediately," said Edward, arresting the words on the lips of his garrulous visitor. "Sartain, I know'd it." "The Doctor will go with us, and I want you to go to Frink's stable and order the horses; we will be ready by the time you come round." "I'll dew it."
Warren Whitby, the broker, who had a gift of verse for banquets and birthdays, had added to Frink's City Song a special verse for the realtors' convention: Oh, here we come, The fellows from Zenith, the Zip Citee. We wish to state In real estate There's none so live as we. Babbitt was stirred to hysteric patriotism. He leaped on a bench, shouting to the crowd: "What's the matter with Zenith?"
She danced wildly, and called on the world to be merry, but in the midst of it she would turn indignant. She was always becoming indignant. Life was a plot against her and she exposed it furiously. She was affable to-night. She merely hinted that Orville Jones wore a toupe, that Mrs. T. Cholmondeley Frink's singing resembled a Ford going into high, and that the Hon.
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