“Heigho!  We’re living in an interesting time, you and I,” said West.  “It isn’t every generation that can watch its old town change into a metropolis right under its eyes.”

“I remember,” said she, “when it was an exciting thing to see anybody on the street you didn’t know.  You went home and told the family about it, and very likely counted the spoons next morning.  The city seemed to belong to us then.  And now—­look.  Everywhere new kings that know not Joseph.  Bee!”

“It’s the law of life; the old order changeth.”  He turned and looked along the street, into the many faces of the homeward bound.  “The eternal mystery of the people....  Don’t you like to look at their faces and wonder what they’re all doing and thinking and hoping and dreaming to make out of their lives?”

“Don’t you think they’re all hoping and dreaming just one thing?—­how to make more money than they’re making at present?  All over the world,” said Miss Weyland, “bright young men lie awake at night, thinking up odd, ingenious ways to take other people’s money away from them.  These young men are the spirit of America.  We’re having an irruption of them here now ... the Goths sacking the sacred city.”

“Clever rascals they are too.  I,” said West, “belong to the other group.  I sleep of nights and wake up in the morning to have your bright young Goths take my money away from me.”

He laughed and continued:  “Little Bobby Smythe, who used to live here, was in my office the other day.  I was complimenting him on the prosperity of the plumbers’ supply manufacture—­for such is his mundane occupation, in Schenectady, N.Y.  Bobby said that plumbers’ supplies were all well enough, but he made his real money from an interesting device of his own.  There is a lot of building going on in his neighborhood, it seems, and it occurred to him to send around to the various owners and offer his private watchman to guard the loose building materials at night.  This for the very reasonable price of $3.50 a week.  It went like hot cakes.  ‘But,’ said I, ’surely your one watchman can’t look after thirty-seven different places.’  ‘No,’ said Bobby, ’but they think he does.’  I laughed and commended his ingenuity.  ’But the best part of the joke,’ said he, ‘is that I haven’t got any watchman at all.’”

Sharlee Weyland laughed gayly.  “Bobby could stand for the portrait of young America.”

“You’ve been sitting at the feet of a staunch old Tory Gamaliel named Colonel Cowles.  I can see that.  Ah, me!  My garrulity has cost us a splendid chance to cross.  What are all these dreadful things you have still left to do on your so-called holiday?”

“Well,” said she, “first I’m going to Saltman’s to buy stationery.  Boxes and boxes of it, for the Department.  Bee!  Come here, sir!  Look how fat this purse is.  I’m going to spend all of that.  Bee!  I wish I had put him to leash.  He’s going to hurt himself in a minute—­you see!—­”