He found a line of
people extending halfway round the block, and in the minute that he
stood watching there were a score or more added to it. Police were
patrolling up and down--it was not many hours later that they were
compelled to adopt the expedient of issuing numbered tickets to
those who waited in the line.
Montague walked on toward the front, looking for his brother. But he
had not gone very far before he gave an exclamation of amazement. He
saw a short, stout, grey-haired figure, which he recognised, even by
its back. "Major Venable!" he gasped.
The Major whirled about. "Montague!" he exclaimed. "My God, you are
just in time to save my life!"
"What do you want?" asked the other.
"I want a chair!" gasped the Major, whose purple features seemed
about to burst with his unwonted exertions. "I've been standing here
for two hours. In another minute more I should have sat down on the
sidewalk."
"Where can I get a chair?" asked Montague, biting his tongue in
order to repress his amusement.
"Over on Broadway," said the Major.
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