Then came Mr. and Mrs. Briggs, and then the three Miss
Spinneys, then Silas Peckham, Head of the Apollinean Institute, and
Mrs. Peckham, and more after them, until at last the ladies'
dressing-room got so full that one might have thought it was a trap
none of them could get out of. The fact is, they all felt a little
awkwardly. Nobody wanted to be first to venture down-stairs. At last
Mr. Silas Peckham thought it was time to make a move for the parlor,
and for this purpose presented himself at the door of the ladies'
dressing-room.
"Lorindy, my dear!" he exclaimed to Mrs. Peckham,--"I think there can
be no impropriety in our joining the family down-stairs."
Mrs. Peckham laid her large, flaccid arm in the sharp angle made by the
black sleeve which held the bony limb her husband offered, and the two
took the stair and struck out for the parlor. The ice was broken, and
the dressing-room began to empty itself into the spacious, lighted
apartments below.
Mr. Silas Peckham scaled into the room with Mrs. Peckham alongside,
like a shad convoying a jelly-fish.
"Good evenin', Mrs. Sprowle! I hope I see you well this evenin'. How's
your health, Colonel Sprowle?"
"Very well, much obleeged to you.
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