But I can't say that he's glib yet. He isn't
apparently going to say more than he thinks."
"I hope he thinks more than he says," sighed the minister. "My
interviews with Lemuel have left me not only exhausted but bruised,
as if I had been hurling myself against a dead wall. Yes, I manage
him better from the pulpit, and I certainly oughtn't to complain. I
don't expect him to make any response, and I perceive that I am not
_quite_ so sore as after meeting him in private life."
* * * * *
That evening Lemuel was helping to throng the platform of an
overcrowded horse-car. It was Saturday night, and he was going to
the provision man up toward the South End, whom Miss Vane was
dealing with for the time being, in an economical recoil from her
expensive Back Bay provision man, to order a forgotten essential of
the Sunday's supplies. He had already been at the grocer's, and was
carrying home three or four packages to save the cart from going a
third time that day to Bolingbroke Street, and he stepped down into
the road when two girls came squeezing their way out of the car.
"Well, I'm glad," said one of them in a voice Lemuel knew at once,
"'t there's one man's got the politeness to make a _little_
grain o' room for you. Thank you, sir!" she added, with more scorn
for the others than gratitude for Lemuel.
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