Edward R. Williams was not listening. He was studying a tailor’s ment in the Saturday Evening Post showing a group of high-colored, high-bosomed young men discussing a dog whose skin had obviously been bought from the same tailor as the young men’s clothes. Edward Williams turned to a story which showed how a good young clerk served one millionaire by overreaching another and in the end became a millionaire himself, thus winning the affections of “the Right Girl.”

Edward Williams felt intelligent and contemptuous—a rare feeling for him. “Makes one thank God one’s English,” he thought and then, because he was in the habit of refuting morbidly every statement he himself made, he thought of certain guides to British taste in periodical literature and his mind fell sheepishly silent. He looked out of the window.

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