Mr. Bowles boasted of a catholic acquaintance in all the cities of his district, but before venturing forth to conquer these he had learned his own city by heart.  My Cousin Robert was not aware of the fact that Mr. Bowles “showed” the town to certain customers.  He even desired to show it to me, but an epicurean strain in my nature held me back.  Johnny Hedges went with him occasionally, and Henry Schneider, the bill clerk, and I listened eagerly to their experiences, afterwards confiding them to Tom....

There were times when, driven by an overwhelming curiosity, I ventured into certain strange streets, alone, shivering with cold and excitement, gripped by a fascination I did not comprehend, my eyes now averted, now irresistibly raised toward the white streaks of light that outlined the windows of dark houses....

One winter evening as I was going home, I encountered at the mail-box a young woman who shot at me a queer, twisted smile.  I stood still, as though stunned, looking after her, and when halfway across the slushy street she turned and smiled again.  Prodigiously excited, I followed her, fearful that I might be seen by someone who knew me, nor was it until she reached an unfamiliar street that I ventured to overtake her.  She confounded me by facing me.

“Get out!” she cried fiercely.

I halted in my tracks, overwhelmed with shame.  But she continued to regard me by the light of the street lamp.

“You didn’t want to be seen with me on Second Street, did you?  You’re one of those sneaking swells.”

The shock of this sudden onslaught was tremendous.  I stood frozen to the spot, trembling, convicted, for I knew that her accusation was just; I had wounded her, and I had a desire to make amends.

“I’m sorry,” I faltered.  “I didn’t mean—­to offend you.  And you smiled—­” I got no farther.  She began to laugh, and so loudly that I glanced anxiously about.  I would have fled, but something still held me, something that belied the harshness of her laugh.

“You’re just a kid,” she told me.  “Say, you get along home, and tell your mamma I sent you.”

Whereupon I departed in a state of humiliation and self-reproach I had never before known, wandering about aimlessly for a long time.  When at length I arrived at home, late for supper, my mother’s solicitude only served to deepen my pain.  She went to the kitchen herself to see if my mince-pie were hot, and served me with her own hands.  My father remained at his place at the head of the table while I tried to eat, smiling indulgently at her ministrations.

“Oh, a little hard work won’t hurt him, Sarah,” he said.  “When I was his age I often worked until eleven o’clock and never felt the worse for it.  Business must be pretty good, eh, Hugh?”