But the following Sunday evening he reached for his hat and cane:
"I must go somewhere," he complained resentfully. "The saints of
my generation are enjoying the saint's rest. Nobody is left but a
few long-lived sinners, of whom I am a great part. They are the
best I can find, and I suppose they are the best I deserve."

Those who live long miss many. Without exception his former
associates at the bar had been summoned to appear before the Judge
who accepts no bribe.

The ablest of the middle-aged lawyers often hurried over to consult
him in difficult cases. All of them could occasionally listen
while he, praiser of a bygone time, recalled the great period of
practice when he was the favorite criminal lawyer of the first
families, defending their sons against the commonwealth which he
always insisted was the greater criminal. The young men about
town knew him and were ready to chat with him on street
corners--but never very long at a time. In his old law offices he
could spend part of every day, guiding or guying his nephew Barbee,
who had just begun to practice. But when all his social resources
were reckoned, his days contained great voids and his nights were
lonelier still. The society of women remained a necessity of his
life; and the only woman in town, always bright, always full of
ideas, and always glad to see him (the main difficulty) was Mrs.
Conyers.

So that for years now he had been going regularly on Sunday
evenings. He kept up apologies to his conscience regularly also;
but it must have become clear that his conscience was not a fire to
make him boil; it was merely a few coals to keep him bubbling.