"Patty, you'd better go in and go to bed," said he at last.
"I'm not sleepy."
"Well, you're very foolish," quietly remarked little White, and again
silence fell upon them.
"Patty, suppose I walk out to the old house and see if I can find out
any thing."
"Suppose," said she, "you don't do any such--listen!"
Down the street arose a great hubbub. Dogs and boys were howling and
barking; men were laughing, shouting, groaning, and blowing horns,
whooping, and clanking cow-bells, whinnying, and howling, and rattling
pots and pans.
"They are coming this way," said little White. "You had better go into
the house, Patty."
"So had you."
"No. I'm going to see if I can't stop them."
"Why, White!"
"I'll be back in a minute," said White, and went toward the noise.
In a few moments the little Secretary met the mob. The pen hesitates on
the word, for there is a respectable difference, measurable only on the
scale of the half century, between a mob and a _charivari_. Little White
lifted his ineffectual voice.
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