I think I see the
little cloud in the horizon, with a silvery lining to it, which may end
in a rain of cards tied round with white ribbons. Extremes meet, and who
so like to be the other party as the elderly gentleman at the other end
of the table, as far from her now as the length of the board permits? I
may be mistaken, but I think this is to be the romantic episode of the
year before me. Only it seems so natural it is improbable, for you never
find your dropped money just where you look for it, and so it is with
these a priori matches.
This gentleman is a tight, tidy, wiry little man, with a small, brisk
head, close-cropped white hair, a good wholesome complexion, a quiet,
rather kindly face, quick in his movements, neat in his dress, but fond
of wearing a short jacket over his coat, which gives him the look of a
pickled or preserved schoolboy. He has retired, they say, from a
thriving business, with a snug property, suspected by some to be rather
more than snug, and entitling him to be called a capitalist, except that
this word seems to be equivalent to highway robber in the new gospel of
Saint Petroleum. That he is economical in his habits cannot be denied,
for he saws and splits his own wood, for exercise, he says,--and makes
his own fires, brushes his own shoes, and, it is whispered, darns a hole
in a stocking now and then,--all for exercise, I suppose.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60