The _Advance_ appeared twice a week, outdoing its rival, the _Star_, by one issue; and Sam Pickering, ever in the van of progress, was busy with plans for making his journal a daily.
Newbern was coming on, even as boys were coming on from bare feet to shoes on week-days.

Ever and again there were traffic jams on River Street, a weaving turmoil of farmers' wagons, buggies, delivery carts, about a noisy, fuming centre of motor vehicles.

High in the centre would be the motor truck of Trimble Cushman, loaded with cases and nursed through the muddle by a cool, clear-eyed youth, who sat with delicate, sure hands on a potent wheel.

Never did he kill or maim either citizen or child, to the secret chagrin of Judge Penniman.

Traffic jams to him were a part of the day's work.
When he had performed for a little time this skilled labour for Trimble Cushman it was brought to him one day that he was old indeed.