He wished to reply in polished tones, "Skylarkin'! You poor, dull clod, what do you know of my ambitions, my ideals?
You, with your petty life devoted to gaining a few paltry dollars!" But he did not say this, or even register the emotion that would justly accompany such a subtitle.

He merely rejoined, "All right, sir, I'm not going to touch them," and went quickly out.

"Darned old grouch!" he muttered as he went down the concrete walk to the Gashwiler front gate.
Here he turned to regard the two-story brick house and the square of lawn with a concrete deer on one side of the walk, balanced by a concrete deer on the other.

Before the gate was the cast-iron effigy of a small Negro in fantastic uniform, holding an iron ring aloft.

The Gashwiler carriage horse had been tethered to this in the days before the Gashwiler touring car had been acquired.
"Dwelling of a country storekeeper!" muttered Merton.