He was aging and knotted with rheumatism, and his failing eyes did not now suffice for many of the nicer jobs.
Wilbur Cowan came to him and, even as had Porter in the days when the sign was bright, did everything.

It was a distinct relief to puzzle over a sewing machine after labouring with too easily diagnosed motor troubles, or to restore a bit of marquetry in a table, or play at a feat of locksmithing.

The First-Class Garage urged him to quit fiddling round and become its foreman, but this glittering offer he refused.

It was too much like settling down to your future.
"Got his father's vagabond blood in his veins," declared Judge Penniman.
"Crazy, too, like his father.

You can't tell me Dave Cowan was in his right mind when the Whipples offered, in so many words, to set him up in any business he wanted to name, and pay all expenses, and he spurned 'em like so much dirt beneath his heel.