Consternation reigned. In the front row, where the First Bridgeboro Troop sat, confusion prevailed. Pee-wee, in accordance with the old precept of “Off with the old love, on with the new,” forgot for the moment Warde’s chagrin and shouted uproariously for Westy. “It’s going to be in our troop anyway!” he yelled. “It’s just the same only different!”
And meanwhile, a trim-looking boy, Edwin Carlisle, was standing in the audience waiting patiently and smiling, somewhat embarrassed.
Mr. Atwater turned and conferred with his colleagues on the platform. Pee-wee, restrained by his nearest neighbors, subsided into silence. Westy (probably more utterly wretched than any one in the hall) tried to silence excited questioners. “Who is he?” “Is it true?” “Is he crazy?” “Did you ever see him before?” “I bet it’s the truth!” These and similar whispered comments were showered upon him and he could only keep looking about sheepishly, as if he were ashamed to have the spectators behold this fuss.
The boy, Edwin Carlisle, standing quietly among his sitting colleagues some distance off, made a rather pathetic picture. His was not an easy r?le but he bore himself with a demeanor of patience and good humor.
And meanwhile, the outlandish stranger who had “shot up” the meeting remained like a statue half-way down the aisle calmly awaiting an answer to his question. Once it seemed as if he were on the point of lighting his pipe, but he did not do that.
It was Mr. Atwater who put an end to this rather embarrassing interval.
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