'What they do, and what they say, and what they wear, and if I can, I'll speak to Mr.Arthur Tracy and thank him for mother's grave-stone.' By seven o'clock he was on his way to the park, walking rapidly, and occasionally saying aloud with a gesture of his hand to the right and the left, and a bow almost to the ground.
'Ladies this way,' and 'gentlemen that.' When he reached the house the gas-jets had just been turned up, and every window was ablaze with light from the attic to the basement.
'My eye! ain't it swell!' Harold said to himself, as he stood a moment, looking at the brilliantly lighted rooms.

'Don't I wish I was rich and could burn all that gas, and maybe I shall be.

Grandma says Mr.Arthur Tracy was once a poor boy like me; only he had an uncle and I haven't.
I've got do earn my money, and I mean to, and sometimes, maybe, I'll have a house us big as this, and just such a party, with a boy up stairs to tell 'em where to go.

I wonder now if I'm expected to go into the kitchen door.

Of course not, I've got on my Sunday clothes, and am invited to the party.