"So then--" "Papers to sign ?" said Dave.
"Our lawyer will have them to-morrow," said Harvey D.
"Good!" said Dave.
He was presently back at his case, embalming for posterity the knowledge that Grandma Milledge was able to be out again these sunny days after a hard tussle with her old enemy sciatica.

But before passing to the next item he took Gideon's choice cigar from the upper waistcoat pocket, crumpled it, rubbed it to fine bits between the palms of his hands, and filled the calabash pipe with its debris.

As he smoked he looked out the window that gave on River Street.

Across the way was the yellow brick structure of the bank he had just left.

He was seeing a future president of that sound institution, Merle Whipple, born Cowan.