chapel is just like the most elegant private drawing-room, great big room with a nice fireplace and simple but tasteful pictures of scenery and kittens and so on, and lots of palms, and two canaries in gilded cages, and big fine overstuffed chairs, and a couple of brocade davenports long enough so's you could sleep on 'em—not that you'd want to sleep on 'em in a place like that, of course—and a little anteroom where the bereaved family can sit in semi-privacy, fixed up by golly as nice as any boudoir, with a nice reading-table and on which are the latest Vogue and the Western Christian Advocate and the Chiropractic and Abrams Method Quarterly and a lot of serious but interesting magazines like that, and—and now here was a mighty touching touch that Mack himself thought up—with a pile of nice linen handkerchiefs for the bereaved, and all absolutely free.
And then the preacher was to stand in a lovely kind of a secluded nook, kind of like an old-fashioned sedan chair, I think they used to call 'em, and not stand right out and obtrude on the
