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1912.] not bring out a better display. But I must hurry and make my report, for I want to catch the two o'clock train home. Good day, Mr. Carroll.”



As he bowed and left the tent, Aunt ’Phroney was staring proudly at the Bishop.

“Twenty-five dollars!” she gasped, “an’ two dollars first prize for Plymouth Rocks! Twenty-seven dollars an’ a silver pitcher! Boy, do you know what this means? It means I ’ll git twenty-three dollars—an’ Mart’n Luther ’ll git jus’ four.”

“Will he keep his promise?” the boy asked.

“Yes. Mart’n Luther ’s a’ honest man, an’ God-fearin’—but he ain’t got much jedgment ’bout ringin’ jack-knives. Dear me, who ’d ever think he ’d turn out a squanderer?”

The boy took her away to the big dining-hall. It was divided into two sections by a rail. On one side was a sign reading: “Square Meal, 25c.” On the other side was the legend: “Regular Dinner, with Oysters and Ice-Cream, 50c.”

Disregarding his companion’s protests, the boy led her into the latter section, which had few patrons compared with the cheaper one. No sooner had Aunt ’Phroney tucked her napkin under her chin than she grew pale and stared amazed across the rail. The boy’s eyes followed hers and recognized Martin Luther seated at a table facing them, and eating with ravenous industry.

“Twenty-five cents gone—an’ he might ’a’ took the lunch I offered him!” wailed the old woman. Perhaps the magnetism of their combined gaze affected Martin Luther, for he raised his eyes and encountered his wife’s horrified stare. The man was justified in being equally astonished. Motionless, with a piece of beef poised half-way to his mouth, he glared alternately at the strange boy and at Aunt ’Phroney. His face betokened bewilderment, shame at being discovered, and, at the last, an unreasoning panic. He slowly rose to his feet, turned his back, and ignominiously fled from the hall.

“Never mind,” said the woman, her lips firmly set, “he ’ll know he ’s got somethin’ to explain