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 CHAPTER XIX

BAD NEWS

In Loring's room that Sunday morning the steam radiator was hissing softly, perhaps at the chill, damp current of air blowing in on it from the partly opened window, the floor was liberally strewn with pages, and sections of three Sunday papers and three youths, one for each paper, sat or sprawled about in lazy comfort. Wattles, just a trifle more proper and solemn than on week-days, with his best dark suit on, and his black derby immaculately brushed, had left a moment before for the village, a prayer-book and hymnal firmly clutched in one hand. Wattles always left early for church, walked slowly, and with dignity, and, having reached the small edifice at the far end of the village, spent a pleasant quarter of an hour watching the arrival of the other members of the congregation. After his departure Tom rescued the comic supplement from beside his chair, and gave it his attention. So long as Wattles, redolent of sabbatical decorum, had been there he had not had the courage to show interest in it. He felt that Wattles would strongly, if silently, disapprove; and since the incident at Danbury Tom had entertained for Wattles a vast respect. His enjoyment of the highly colored pages was, though, speedily interrupted by Clif.