The skateresses did not
swear, but savagely said, "It is too bad,"--and so it was.
Wade, loaded with the blessings of his Directors, took the train next
morning for Dunderbunk.
The weather was still mild and drizzly, but promised to clear. As the
train rattled along by the river, Wade could see that the thin ice
was breaking up everywhere. In mid-stream a procession of blocks was
steadily drifting along. Unless Zero came sliding down again pretty soon
from Boreal regions, the sheets that filled the coves and clung to the
shores would also sail away southward, and the whole Hudson be left
clear as in midsummer.
At Yonkers a down train ranged by the side of Wade's train, and, looking
out, he saw Mr. and Mrs. Skerrett alighting.
He jumped down, rather surprised, to speak to them.
"We have just been telegraphed here," said Peter, gravely. "The son of a
widow, a friend of ours, was drowned this morning in the soft ice of the
river. He was a pet of mine, poor fellow! and the mother depends upon me
for advice. We have come down to say a kind word. Why won't you report
us to the ladies at my house, and say we shall not be at home until the
evening train? They do not know the cause of our journey, except that it
is a sad one."
"Perhaps Mr. Wade will carve their turkey for them at dinner, Peter,"
Fanny suggested.
"Do, Wade! and keep their spirits up. Dinner's at six."
Here the engine whistled.
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