“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
were momentarily at a discount. Then the high-pitched masculine voice of the master of ceremonies—a cork merchant from Flatbush—began:
“Ladies and gentlemen: It gives me great pleasure to announce that our friend, that distinguished American statesman Colonel W. C. Spothal, of Bloomington, Illinois, will give us a few personal reminiscences of him who cast the shackles from the slave and preserved the Union from dissolution amid the throes of internecine warfare—President Abraham Lincoln, or, as we of the States love to call him, ‘Old Abe.’”
“What is internecine warfare?” giggled Ashurst.
“Now!” exclaimed Mrs. Trevelyan, with sudden animation. “Just slip in the door.”
In the flurry caused by the rising and coming forward of the distinguished statesman, the party managed to force their way into the saloon almost unobserved.
“Rather interesting,” carelessly remarked the horsey bride.
"Aw—lots of atmosphere, you know,” ventured Ashurst.
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