ing in the choir. I used to sing alto, and he sang bass. He sat right behind me and his foot. . . ."
"Mabelle!" said Elmer.
She veered aside from the history of a courtship which always engaged her with a passionate interest. "Well, I've always noticed that lots of things begin in church choirs. There was that Bunsen woman who ran off with. . . ."
Emma trod upon her, once more throttling her flow of reminiscences.
"That's right, Naomi," she said, "it'll help pass the time while you're waiting." And then, polishing her spoon with her napkin (an action which she always performed ostentatiously as an implication upon the character of Mabelle's housekeeping) she said, "By the way, he's planned a Sunday night service which is to be given over entirely to you and Naomi—Philip. Think of that. It's quite an honor." (She would sit well down in front that night where she could breathe in all the glory.) "I told him, of course, that you'd be delighted to do it."
"Yes," said Naomi, "he spoke to me about it. We'll tell our experiences." The prospect of so much glory kindled a light in the pale eyes—the light of memories of revival meetings when she had been the great moving force.
Then Philip spoke for the first time. "I won't do it—I'm through with all that."
There was a horrible silence, broken only by the clatter of a fork dropped by little Ethel on her plate.
"What do you mean?"
"I told you all that before. I thought you must
