Excerpt from Quinneys'

"Good-evening, Mr. Quinney!"

"Good-evening!" Quinney replied, as he passed a stout red-faced fellow-townsman. With his back to the man, Quinney smiled.

He could remember the day, not so long ago, when Pinker, the grocer, called him "My lad." Then his whimsical face grew solemn, as he remembered that a smile might be misinterpreted by others whose eyes were fixed upon him with sympathy and interest. He walked more slowly, as befitted a chief mourner returning from his fathers funeral, but he was queerly sensible of a desire to run and shout and laugh. He wanted to run from a drab past into a rosy future, he wanted to shout aloud that he was free - free! He wanted to laugh, because it seemed so utterly absurd to pull a long face because a tyrant was dead and buried. The fact that the old man was buried made a vast difference.

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