It was with a sensation of positive luxury that he put on a "soft" shirt of blue cheviot and his tan walking-shoes.
"But no more red scarfs," he declared, as he knotted his black satin "club" before the mirror.

"She WAS right there." He put his cigarettes in his pocket, caught up his gloves and stick, clapped on his hat, and started for the Bessemers' flat with a feeling of joyous expectancy he had not known for days.
Evidently Blix had seen him coming, for she opened the door herself; and it suited her humor for the moment to treat him as a peddler or book-agent.
"No, no," she said airily, her head in the air as she held the door.
"No, we don't want any to-day.

We HAVE the biography of Abraham Lincoln.

Don't want to subscribe to any Home Book of Art.

We're not artistic; we use drapes in our parlors.