Camp is always so glad to get
them, and she is so delightful when she gets going about public events.
But perhaps you don't approve of Sunday papers, Mr. Homos."
"I'm sure I don't know, madam. I haven't seen them yet. You know this is
the first Sunday I've been in America."
"Well, I'm sorry to say you won't see the old Puritan Sabbath," said Mrs.
Makely, with an abrupt deflection from the question of the Sunday papers.
"Though you ought to, up in these hills. The only thing left of it is
rye-and-Indian bread, and these baked beans and fish-balls."
"But they are very good?"
"Yes, I dare say they are not the worst of it."
She was a woman who tended to levity, and I was a little afraid she might
be going to say something irreverent; but, if she were, she was
forestalled by the Altrurian asking: "Would it be very indiscreet, madam,
if I were to ask you some time to introduce me to that family?"
"The Camps?" she returned. "Not at all. I should be perfectly delighted."
The thought seemed to strike her, and she asked: "Why not go with me this
morning, unless you are inflexibly bent on going to church, you and Mr.
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