Around Lotta's fountain the baskets of the flower sellers, crammed with chrysanthemums, violets, pinks, roses, lilies, hyacinths, set a brisk note of colour in the grey of the street.
But to Lyman's notion the general impression of this centre of the city's life was not one of strenuous business activity.

It was a continuous interest in small things, a people ever willing to be amused at trifles, refusing to consider serious matters--good-natured, allowing themselves to be imposed upon, taking life easily--generous, companionable, enthusiastic; living, as it were, from day to day, in a place where the luxuries of life were had without effort; in a city that offered to consideration the restlessness of a New York, without its earnestness; the serenity of a Naples, without its languor; the romance of a Seville, without its picturesqueness.
As Lyman turned from the window, about to resume his work, the office boy appeared at the door.
"The man from the lithograph company, sir," announced the boy.
"Well, what does he want ?" demanded Lyman, adding, however, upon the instant: "Show him in." A young man entered, carrying a great bundle, which he deposited on a chair, with a gasp of relief, exclaiming, all out of breath: "From the Standard Lithograph Company." "What is ?" "Don't know," replied the other.

"Maps, I guess." "I don't want any maps.

Who sent them?
I guess you're mistaken." Lyman tore the cover from the top of the package, drawing out one of a great many huge sheets of white paper, folded eight times.

Suddenly, he uttered an exclamation: "Ah, I see.