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Book, page 131 / 171 Mrs. Warden paused, drew a long breath, and resumed. Her voice now had a ring of triumph. "Well, last month they got the 'lectric-cars finished down our way. We hadn't been on 'em, neither of us. Jennie an' Frank didn't seem ter want us to. They said they was shaky an' noisy an' would tire us all out. But yesterday, when the folks was gone, Hezekiah an' me got ter talkin' an' thinkin' how all these years we hadn't never had that honeymoon trip, an' how by an' by we'd be old--real old, I mean, so's we couldn't take it--an' all of a sudden we said we'd take it now, right now. An' we did. We left a note fer the children, an'--an' we're here!" There was a long silence. Over at the side-board the waiter still polished his bottle. Livingstone did not even turn his head. Finally Harding raised his glass. "We'll drink to honeymoon trips in general and to this one in particular," he cried, a little constrainedly. Mrs. Warden flushed, smiled, and reached for her glass. The pink lemonade was almost at her lips when Livingstone's arm shot out. Then came the tinkle of shattered glass and a crimson stain where the wine trailed across the damask. "I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Livingstone, while the other men lowered their glasses in surprise. "That was an awkward slip of mine, Mrs. Warden. I must have hit your arm." "But, Bill," muttered Harding under his breath, "you don't mean--" "But I do," corrected Livingstone quietly, looking straight into Harding's amazed eyes. "Mr. and Mrs. Warden are my guests. They are going to drive to Bunker Hill with me by and by." When the six o'clock accommodation train pulled out from Boston that night it bore a little old man and a little old woman, gray-haired, weary, but blissfully content.
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