Ephraim laid down his knife and fork for the first time.  Were the wonders of this journey never to cease?  And Jethro, once in his life, looked nervous.

“Er—­er—­Cyn’thy’ll go, Steve—­Cynthy’ll go.”

“Yes, Cynthy’ll go,” laughed Mr. Merrill, “and you’ll go, and Ephraim’ll go.”  Although he by no means liked everybody, as would appear at first glance, Mr. Merrill had a way of calling people by their first names when he did fancy them.

“Er—­Steve,” said Jethro, “what would your wife say if I was to drink coffee out of my saucer?”

“Let’s see,” said Mr. Merrill grave for once.  “What’s the punishment for that in my house?  I know what she’d do if you didn’t drink it.  What do you think she’d do, Cynthy?”

“Ask him what was the matter with it,” said Cynthia, promptly.

“Well, Cynthy,” said he, “I know why these old fellows take you round with ’em.  To take care of ’em, eh?  They’re not fit to travel alone.”

And so it was settled, after much further argument, that they were all to sup at Mr. Merrill’s house, Cynthia stoutly maintaining that she would not desert them.  And then Mr. Merrill, having several times repeated the street and number, went, back to his office.  There was much mysterious whispering between Ephraim and Jethro in the hotel parlor after dinner, while Cynthia was turning over the leaves of a magazine, and then Ephraim proposed going out to see the sights.

“Where’s Uncle Jethro going?” she asked.

“He’ll meet us,” said Ephraim, promptly, but his voice was not quite steady.

“Oh, Uncle Jethro!” cried Cynthia, “you’re trying to get out of it.  You remember you promised to meet us in Washington.”

“Guess he’ll keep this app’intment,” said Ephraim, who seemed to be full of a strange mirth that bubbled over, for he actually winked at Jethro.  Cynthia’s mind flew to Bunker Bill and the old North Church, but they went first to Faneuil Hall.  Presently they found themselves among the crowd in Washington Street, where Ephraim confessed the trepidation which he felt over the coming supper party:  a trepidation greater, so he declared many times, than he had ever experienced before any of his battles in the war.  He stopped once or twice in the eddy of the crowd to glance up at the numbers; and finally came to a halt before the windows of a large dry-goods store.

“I guess I ought to buy a new shirt for this occasion, Cynthy,” he said, staring hard at the articles of apparel displayed there:  “Let’s go in.”

Cynthia laughed outright, since Ephraim could not by any chance have worn any of the articles in question.

“Why, Cousin Ephraim,” she exclaimed, “you can’t buy gentlemen’s things here.”

“Oh, I guess you can,” said Ephraim, and hobbled confidently in at the doorway.  There we will leave him for a while conversing in an undertone with a floor-walker, and follow Jethro.  He, curiously enough, had some fifteen minutes before gone in at the same doorway, questioned the same floor-walker, and he found himself in due time walking amongst a bewildering lot of models on the third floor, followed by a giggling saleswoman.