But all the week-end he had been a little sad.

It was the end of so old a song, and he knew no other tune to sing.

He was comfortably off, healthy, free from any particular cares in life, but free too from any particular duties.
"Will I be going to turn into a useless old man ?" he asked himself.
But he had woke up this Monday to the sound of the blackbird, and the world, which had seemed rather empty twelve hours before, was now brisk and alluring.

His prowess in quick shaving assured him of his youth.
"I'm no' that dead old," he observed, as he sat on the edge of he bed, to his reflection in the big looking-glass.
It was not an old face.

The sandy hair was a little thin on the top and a little grey at the temples, the figure was perhaps a little too full for youthful elegance, and an athlete would have censured the neck as too fleshy for perfect health.