When the dusk closed in and the old man watched the clock and waited, he would go boldly downstairs to the old piano and register his rebellion in music that Adam Craig could hear.

He would spend his evening openly with Joan; he would go through fire and water; he would ride the whirlwind and direct the storm but what this time he would assure his emancipation.
Instinct had warned him to abandon, in his hours with Adam Craig, certain picturesque forms of attire in which he delighted.

To-night, whistling with a feeling of gayety and unrestraint, he rummaged his trunks, selecting his clothing with fastidious attention to minor detail and held the lamp high at the end to afford a better glimpse of the handsome Irishman smiling back at him from the mirror in the bureau.

No doubt of it, give a fashionable tailor disposed to be experimental, his head and enough money on account and he could create a dash and piquancy worth while.

Always remembering that such a creative artisan was fortunate to find a suitable contrast of shoulder and hip to wear his inspiration.
Kenny in the best of spirits went downstairs.