Across the middle of the
end gallery Dr. Partridge's square pew extended, so that by no means
might the occupants of the two side galleries come within whispering
distance of each other.
Obadiah Weeks, Abe Konkapot and Abner, who was a a widower and classed
himself with bachelors, and a large number of other younger men whom
Perez recognized as belonging to the mob under his leadership on
Tuesday, were already in their seats. Fidgeting in unfamiliar boots
and shoes, and meek with plentifully greased and flatly plastered
hair, there was very little in the subdued aspect of these young men
to remind any one of the truculent rebels who a few days before had
shaken their bludgeons in the faces of the Honorable the Justices of
the Common Pleas. As Perez entered the seat with them, they recognized
him with sheepish grins, as much as to say, "We're all in the same
box," quite as the occupants of a prisoner's dock might receive a
fellow victim thrust in with them by the sheriff. Obadiah reached out
his clenched first with something in it, and Perez putting forth his
hand, received therein a lot of dried caraway seeds. "Thort mebbe ye
hadn't got no meetin seed," whispered Obadiah.
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