For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. “Mr. “You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. Roused by Ben's warning, the carpenter looked up and could just perceive the dusky outline of the bridge looming through the darkness, and rendered indistinctly visible by the many lights that twinkled from the windows of the lofty houses.
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