here that
blessed old lady steered those innocent Presbyterians. Into "_Bohemia_,"
one of the swiftest, all-night restaurants and dance halls in New York
City. Neither Mr. or Mrs. George has ever had the courage to this day to
ask how on earth Mother came to even know of the existence of such a
place, much less of its locality.

Down Twenty-ninth Street they marched; Mother in the lead, the two
sisters next, then Uncle Abinidab "with whiskers down to here," and
last, and making himself the "least," he could, with his two hundred and
seventy pounds, came George, wondering what the finish would be. The
Orchestra, one of those Austrian Table-Dote-with-Red-Wine Affairs,
consisting of half a dozen crazy fiddlers and a girl beating one of
those woven wire mattress pianos with a couple of sticks, was whooping
it up for all they were worth; the loud shrill voices of the women and
the hoarse voices of the men, the shouts of the waiters and the clatter
of dishes made a very babel of sound.

_And then the Presbyterian convention walked in._

The crowd gave one look--and every sound stopped. The Orchestra died
away in a discordant wail; the guests stopped, with glasses raised half
way to their lips; the waiters stood as if petrified. Old Bohemia had
seen many strange sights in its career; but no stranger cavalcade had
ever marched in through its portals than this "Peaceful Valley
Quartette." The three aged women, dressed in all the simplicity of their
village home; Uncle Abinidab, tall, austere and with the snow-white
whiskers, and behind them, a big, smooth-faced, broad-shouldered young
chap that looked like a Plain Clothes Man in charge.

Four pale, anemic, shifty-eyed young fellows who were seated at a table
near the door, took one look at George, reached under their chairs for
their hats, and faded away through the door into the night. Mother, with
a happy smile, piloted her little brood over to an empty table, and with
a graceful gesture, motioned them to be seated. Then, with expectant
faces, they all looked at George. Every eye in the place was still
focussed on them. The silence and air of expectation which pervaded the
room was so tense that everybody jumped when George mustered up courage
at last to stammer,

"Er-er-what'll you have?"

The silence grew still more tense as everybody leaned forward to hear
the answer. Uncle Abinidab glanced at the sisters nervously, then
cleared his throat and said:

"Er-er-hem; I