In the words of the Argus, “his powerful singing was highly enjoyed by all present.”

There followed the feature of the evening,—­a paper read by Mrs. Potts; subject, “The Message of Emerson.”  With an agreeable public manner the lady erected herself at one corner of a square piano, placed her manuscripts under the shaded lamp, and began.  The subject, aforetime made known among us, had been talked about and perhaps a little wondered at.  It is certain, at least, that Westley Keyts had yielded to the urging of his good wife to be present in the belief that a man named Emerson had sent Mrs. Potts a telegram to be read to us.  This was what “the message of Emerson” meant to Westley, and the novelty of it had seemed to justify what he called “togging up,” after a hard day’s work at the slaughter-house.

If, then, he listened to Mrs. Potts at first with wonder-widening eyes, amazed at Mr. Emerson’s recklessness in the matter of telegrams, and if at last he fell into gentle slumber, perhaps it was only that he had been less hardened than others present to the rigors of social nicety.  No one else fell asleep, but it was noticed that the guests, when the paper was done, praised it to one another in swift generalities and with averted face, as if they sought to evade specific or pointed inquiry as to its import.  But the impression made by the reader was all that she could have wished, and the gathering was presently engrossed with refreshments.  The Argus stated that “a dainty collation was served to all present, the menu comprising the choicest delicacies of the season,” which I took to mean that Solon was trying to profit by instruction; and that never again would he permit a table in the Argus to groan with its weight of good things.

Westley Keyts, being skilfully awakened without scandal by his wife, drank a cup of strong coffee to clear his brain, and cordially consumed as many segments of cake as he was able to glean from passing trays, speculating comfortably, meanwhile, about the message of Emerson,—­chiefly as to why Emerson had not sent it by mail, thus saving—­he estimated—­at least a hundred and twenty dollars in telegraph tolls.

Mrs. Potts, thus auspiciously launched upon the social sea of Little Arcady, was henceforth to occupy herself prominently with the regulation of its ebb and flow.  Already she had organized a “Ladies’ Literary and Home Study Club,” and had promised to read a paper on “The Lesson of Greek Art” at its first meeting a week hence.  As the Argus observed, “it was certainly a gala occasion, and one and all felt that it was indeed good to be there.”