"So much for Brother Cradock's penny."
"Dear John, till I die I will never be afraid to call
you back when your buttons are tattered."
"And for me," said little Jack, "I will go now and
look under the bureau for the lost cent, and will have it
for my own."
(ENTER SERVANTS, R. H. L. E., I WITH THE DRESDEN
CHINA.
THEY MEET OTHER SERVANTS, L. H. L. E., WITH THE
SEVRES CHINA.)
TABLEAU.
CURTAIN.
THANKSGIVING AT THE POLLS
A THANKSGIVING STORY
I
Frederick Dane was on his way towards what he called
his home. His home, alas, was but an indifferent attic
in one of the southern suburbs of Boston. He had been
walking; but he was now standing still, at the well-known
corner of Massachusetts and Columbus Avenues.
As often happens, Frederick Dane had an opportunity
to wait at this corner a quarter of an hour. As he
looked around him on the silent houses, he could not but
observe the polling-booth, which a watchful city
government had placed in the street, a few days before,
in preparation for the election which was to take place
three weeks afterward. Dane is of an inquiring temper,
and seeing that the polling-booth had a door and the door
had a keyhole, he tried in the keyhole a steel key which
he had picked up in Dock Square the day before. Almost
to his surprise, the key governed the lock at once, and
he found himself able to walk in.
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