"
Bert Johnson leaned forward, and looked at the address on the letter
paper.
"Mount Dunstan Vicarage," he read aloud. "That looks pretty swell,
doesn't it?" with a laugh. "Say, fellows, you know Jepson at the office,
the chap that prides himself on reading such a lot? He said it reminded
him of the names of places in English novels. That Johnny's the biggest
snob you ever set your tooth into. When I told him about the lord fellow
that owns the castle, and that George seemed to have seen him, he nearly
fell over himself. Never had any use for George before, but just you
watch him make up to him when he sees him next."
People were dropping in and taking seats at the tables. They were all of
one class. Young men who lived in hall bedrooms. Young women who worked
in shops or offices, a couple here and there, who, living far uptown,
had come to Shandy's to dinner, that they might go to cheap seats in
some theatre afterwards. In the latter case, the girls wore their best
hats, had bright eyes, and cheeks lightly flushed by their sense of
festivity. Two or three were very pretty in their thin summer dresses
and flowered or feathered head gear, tilted at picturesque angles over
their thick hair.
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