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There was a lofty look and sense of behavior about Mr. Pinkham of Wetherford. You might have thought him a great politician as he marched up Broadway, looking neither to right hand nor left. He felt himself to be a person of great responsibilities.

“I begin to feel sort of at home myself,” said his wife, who always had a certain touch of simple dignity about her. “When we was comin’ yesterday New York seemed to be all strange, and there wasn’t nobody expectin’ us. I feel now just as if I’d been here before.”

They were now on the edge of the better-looking part of the town; it was still noisy and crowded, but noisy with fine carriages instead of drays, and crowded with well-dressed people. The hours for shopping and visiting were beginning, and more than one person looked with appreciative and friendly eyes at the comfortable pleased-looking elderly man and woman who went their easily beguiled and loitering way. The pavement peddlers detained them, but the cabmen beckoned them in vain; their eyes were busy with the immediate foreground. Mrs. Pinkham was embarrassed by the recurring reflection of herself in the great windows.

“I wish I had seen about a new bonnet before we came,” she lamented. “They seem to be havin’ on some o’ their spring things.”

“Don’t you worry, Mary Ann. I don’t see anybody that looks any better than you do,” said Abel, with boyish and reassuring pride.

Mr. Pinkham had now bought the “Herald,” and also the “Sun,” well recommended by an able newsboy, and presently they crossed over from that corner by the Fifth Avenue Hotel which seems like the very heart of New York, and found a place to sit down on the Square–an empty bench, where they could sit side by side and look the papers through, reading over each other’s shoulder, and being impatient from page to page. The paragraph was indeed repeated, with trifling additions. Ederton of the “Sun” had followed the “Tribune” man’s lead, and fabricated a brief interview, a marvel of art and discretion, but so general in its allusions that it could create no suspicion; it almost deceived Mr. Pinkham himself, so that he found unaffected pleasure in the fictitious occasion, and felt as if he had easily covered himself with glory. Except for the bare fact of the interview’s being imaginary, there was no discredit to be cast upon Mr. Abel Pinkham’s having said that he thought the country near Wetherford looked well for the time of year, and promised a fair hay crop, and that his income was augmented one half to three fifths by his belief in the future of maple sugar. It was likely to be the great coming crop of the Green Mountain State. Ederton suggested that there was talk of Mr. Pinkham’s presence in the matter of a great maple-sugar trust, in which much of the capital of Wall Street would be involved.

“How they do hatch up these things, don’t they?” said the worthy man at this point. “Well, it all sounds well, Mary Ann.”

“It says here that you are a very personable man,” smiled his wife, “and have filled some of the most responsible town offices” (this was the turn taken by Goffey of the “Herald”). “Oh, and that you are going to attend the performance at Barnum’s this evening, and occupy reserved seats. Why, I didn’t know–who have you told about that?–who was you talkin’ to last night, Abel?”

“I never spoke o’ goin’ to Barnum’s to any livin’ soul,” insisted Abel, flushing. “I only thought of it two or three times to myself that perhaps I might go an’ take you. Now that is singular; perhaps they put that in just to advertise the show.”

“Ain’t it a kind of a low place for folks like us to be seen in?” suggested Mrs. Pinkham timidly. “People seem to be payin’ us all this attention, an’ I don’t know’s ‘t would be dignified for us to go to one o’ them circus places.”