“Here,” said the Senator as he put his hand on my head, “is a coming man in the Democratic party.”

The great men laughed at my blushes and we came away with a deep sense of pride in us.  At last I felt equal to the ordeal of meeting the Dunkelbergs.  My uncle must have shared my feeling for, to my delight, he went straight to the basement store above which was the modest sign:  “H.  Dunkelberg, Produce.”  I trembled as we walked down the steps and opened the door.  I saw the big gold watch chain, the handsome clothes, the mustache and side whiskers and the large silver ring approaching us, but I was not as scared as I expected to be.  My eyes were more accustomed to splendor.

“Well I swan!” said the merchant in the treble voice which I remembered so well.  “This is Bart and Peabody!  How are you?”

“Pretty well,” I answered, my uncle being too slow of speech to suit my sense of propriety.  “How is Sally?”

The two men laughed heartily much to my embarrassment.

“He’s getting right down to business,” said my uncle.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Dunkelberg.  “Why, Bart, she’s spry as a cricket and pretty as a picture.  Come up to dinner with me and see for yourself.”

Uncle Peabody hesitated, whereupon I gave him a furtive nod and he said “All right,” and then I had a delicious feeling of excitement.  I had hard work to control my impatience while they talked.  I walked on some butter tubs in the back room and spun around on a whirling stool that stood in front of a high desk and succeeded in the difficult feat of tipping over a bottle of ink without getting any on myself.  I covered the multitude of my sins on the desk with a newspaper and sat down quietly in a chair.

By and by I asked, “Are you ’most ready to go?”

“Yes—­come on—­it’s after twelve o’clock,” said Mr. Dunkelberg.  “Sally will be back from school now.”

My conscience got the better of me and I confessed about the ink bottle and was forgiven.

So we walked to the big house of the Dunkelbergs and I could hear my heart beating when we turned in at the gate—­the golden gate of my youth it must have been, for after I had passed it I thought no more as a child.  That rude push which Mr. Grimshaw gave me had hurried the passing.

I was a little surprised at my own dignity when Sally opened the door to welcome us.  My uncle told Aunt Deel that I acted and spoke like Silas Wright, “so nice and proper.”  Sally was different, too—­less playful and more beautiful with long yellow curls covering her shoulders.

“How nice you look!” she said as she took my arm and led me into her playroom.

“These are my new clothes,” I boasted.  “They are very expensive and I have to be careful of them.”

I remember not much that we said or did but I could never forget how she played for me on a great shiny piano—­I had never seen one before—­and made me feel very humble with music more to my liking than any I have heard since—­crude and simple as it was—­while her pretty fingers ran up and down the keyboard.