CHAPTER XIX
BAD NEWS
In Loring's room that Sunday morning the steam
radiator was hissing softly, perhaps at the chill,
damp current of air blowing in on it from the
partly opened window, the floor was liberally strewn
with pages, and sections of three Sunday papers and
three youths, one for each paper, sat or sprawled about
in lazy comfort. Wattles, just a trifle more proper and
solemn than on week-days, with his best dark suit on,
and his black derby immaculately brushed, had left a
moment before for the village, a prayer-book and
hymnal firmly clutched in one hand. Wattles always
left early for church, walked slowly, and with dignity,
and, having reached the small edifice at the far end of
the village, spent a pleasant quarter of an hour watching
the arrival of the other members of the congregation.
After his departure Tom rescued the comic supplement
from beside his chair, and gave it his attention.
So long as Wattles, redolent of sabbatical decorum,
had been there he had not had the courage to
show interest in it. He felt that Wattles would
strongly, if silently, disapprove; and since the incident
at Danbury Tom had entertained for Wattles a vast
respect. His enjoyment of the highly colored pages
was, though, speedily interrupted by Clif.
