Then he brushed his Kossuth hat with his arm, and put it on, looking out at the landscape again.
Somehow its meaning was dulled to him.

Just then a muddy terrier came up, and rubbed itself against his knee.

"Why, Tige, old boy!" he said, stooping to pat it kindly.

The hard, shallow look faded out; he half smiled, looking in the dog's eyes.

A curious smile, unspeakably tender and sad.