own gingerly on the heavy gilt chairs. Unaccustomed
to such fine surroundings, they were visibly nervous and ill at ease.
Their new clothes did not fit them, and they felt generally
uncomfortable. They had thought it necessary to go into mourning. It
was an expense they could ill afford, and the matter had furnished food
for endless discussion. But it was finally decided that at least that
much respect should be paid to the memory of a dear "uncle" who, they
fervently prayed, had not forgotten them. The men wore new,
cheap-looking black suits; the wives and daughters had on heavy crape
veils.

The preacher from Newark, fat and asthmatic, was out of breath after the
quick walk from the Subway.

"Phew!" he puffed, mopping his head with a colored handkerchief which
contrasted violently with his sombre garments: "We're not late, are we?"

"Oh, dear no," said Jimmy, greeting everyone with forced politeness.
"Mr. Cooley is not here yet. Sit down and make yourselves comfortable."

"I told Mathilda it wasn't no use hurryin'!" exclaimed the reverend
gentleman peevishly. "She's always so afraid of missing something."

His wife, a shrewish little woman with a snappy manner, bridled up
indignantly. Facing her clerical spouse, she exclaimed:

"Now, Peter, how do you come to talk that way? Wasn't you saying to me
all the way along: 'Hurry up or when we gets there like as not we'll
find they've done us out of what's comin' to us?'"

The preacher reddened and coughed uneasily:

"No--no--my dear--nothing of the kind. You misunderstood me----"

"I heard you, Dad," piped the falsetto voice of his daughter, a gawky
girl of eighteen.

The situation was rapidly becoming strained, and it was a relief to
Jimmy when his wife came to the rescue by offering the visitors some
liquid refreshment. Mrs. Thomas Marsh, wife of the Newark haberdasher, a
tall, angular woman with a shrill, masculine voice, accepted with
alacrity:

"Thank m'm, I don't care if I does. You know I hate funerals, I'm that
spooky. They allus gives me the creeps. Not that I ever seed nothin',
but I'm just afeerd. Glass of brandy? Yes--thank you, m'm. I wouldn't
have come to-day, but for Tom's coaxing. He worried and worried----"

"But my dear madam," interposed Mr. James Marsh, somewhat scandalized.
"This is not a funeral. We've met here merely to listen to the reading
of my lamented brother's will."

Mrs. Thomas chuckled, paying no attention to her husband, who k