For a moment nobody looked up, each apparently waiting for some one else
to take the initiative.
Quincy, for it was he, broke the silence, and immediately every face at
the table was turned towards him.
"How do you do, Professor?" said he. "Good afternoon, Mr. Stiles and Mr.
Wood. Ah, glad to see you, Mr. Hill," he added, as he espied Samuel Hill
at the farther end of the table.
The Professor's face grew crimson, then bright red, and finally assumed
a bluish tinge. Abner sat transfixed. The others at the table had a
charming diversity of expressions on their faces, ranging from "grave to
gay, from lively to severe." No one at the table enjoyed the situation
any more than Samuel Hill, who was very fond of a joke and who knew of
Quincy's intention to meet his enemy at close quarters.
For several minutes no one spoke. Betsy flew from one to the other
waiting upon table, but a solemn hush seemed to have fallen upon the
dinner party. Again Quincy broke the silence.
"I trust, gentlemen," said he, "that you will not let my presence
interfere with your usual conversation.
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