The Old Reporter
political belief and wrote so ardently for another; who saw and despised the littleness of big people, and then made them sound bigger and more interesting—it does seem odd to think of him as the lad to blush and back out. But in those early days he had feelings, and they used to get in his way. He had so many of them. They were what he worked with. He did not realize that. Perhaps the office did not realize it.
It was his personal feelings that made him keep up his acquaintances so long in the Southern Colony of the up-town life of the city. It helped him through the week, like many an other lonely hall-bed roomer, if a warm-voiced compatriot seized his hand and said—or shouted, "What! son of my dear old friend, Dr. Woods? Well, 'pon my word. Yes, I declare, you look just like him. My lands! how that old man can pray!" And so on, ending with "So we'll expect you Sunday evening. The girls 'll be mighty glad to see you."
He even went to dances and such things when he could get the night off, and the older generation gossiping around the edge
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