am, and at all hours he could catch the swift glisten
of the train-windows as they shot past.

Anderson's office was about twelve by fourteen, and lined with
shelves on two sides. On these he had books, not law-books. Those he
had relegated to the library at home. He had probably in the depths
of his consciousness a sensation of melancholy at the contemplation
of those reminders of his balked career. No man, no matter how
gracefully he may yield to it, cares to contemplate failures. He had
filled these shelves with books of which he was fond, for daily
reading. They were most of them old. He had little money with which
to purchase new ones. He had been forced to rely upon those which his
father and grandfather had accumulated. There were, however, a few
recent and quite valuable books which he had acquired since his
venture in trade, upon entomology, especially books upon butterflies.
Since his retreat from the law he had developed suddenly, perhaps by
the force of contrast, or the opposite swing of the pendulum, an
overwhelming taste for those airy flowers of animated life. The two
walls of the office not occupied with books were hung with framed
specimens. He had also under the riverward window a little table
equipped with the necessary paraphernalia for mounting them. Many a
sunny day in the season he spent in the fields on this gentle hunt.
There was a broad sill to the window, and upon it stood a box filled
with green plants. When the season was enough advanced and the window
always open, the trailing vines rooted in the box hung far down
outside, and the women on the passing canal-boats looked up at them.
The window-ledge was wide enough, moreover, for an old red cushion
upon which slept in the sun when he was not afield for love or war or
prey, a great cat striped like a tiger, with fierce green eyes, and a
mighty purr of comfort, and a rounding back of affection for
Anderson's legs when he talked to him.

Anderson had two comfortable old chairs in his office, and a goodly
assortment of pipes, for he was a great smoker. He made tobacco a
part of his grocery business, and had a strong sense of comfort in
reflecting upon the unlimited supply. He had been forced, in the last
days of his law-practice, to stint himself even in this creature
comfort. On the whole, he was much happier when fairly established in
trade than he had ever been before. He was so absorbed in his
business (all the details of which he mastered