I mean," he said, "that the folks that come now make more show an' most on 'em who ain't visitin' their relations either has places of their own or hires 'em fer the summer.

One time some folks used to come an' stay at the hotel.

The' was quite a fair one then," he explained; "but it burned up, an' wa'n't never built up agin because it had got not to be thought the fash'nable thing to put up there.

Mis' Robinson (Dug's wife), an' Mis' Truman, 'round on Laylock Street, has some fam'lies that come an' board with them ev'ry year, but that's about all the boardin' the' is nowdays." Mr.Harum stopped and looked at his companion thoughtfully for a moment, as if something had just occurred to him.
"The' 'll be more o' your kind o' folk 'round, come summer," he said; and then, on a second thought, "you're 'Piscopal, ain't ye ?" "I have always attended that service," replied John, smiling, "and I have gone to St.James's here nearly every Sunday." "Hain't they taken any notice of ye ?" asked David.
"Mr.Euston, the rector, called upon me," said John, "but I have made no further acquaintances." "E-um'm!" said David, and, after a moment, in a sort of confidential tone, "Do you like goin' to church ?" he asked.
"Well," said John, "that depends--yes, I think I do.

I think it is the proper thing," he concluded weakly.
"Depends some on how a feller's ben brought up, don't ye think so ?" said David.
"I should think it very likely," John assented, struggling manfully with a yawn.
"I guess that's about my case," remarked Mr.Harum, "an' I sh'd have to admit that I ain't much of a hand fer church-goin'.