But he did not say this, or even register the emotion that would
justly accompany such a subtitle. He merely rejoined, "All right,
sir, I'm not going to touch them," and went quickly out. "Darned old
grouch!" he muttered as he went down the concrete walk to the
Gashwiler front gate.

Here he turned to regard the two-story brick house and the square of
lawn with a concrete deer on one side of the walk, balanced by a
concrete deer on the other. Before the gate was the cast-iron effigy
of a small Negro in fantastic uniform, holding an iron ring aloft.
The Gashwiler carriage horse had been tethered to this in the days
before the Gashwiler touring car had been acquired.

"Dwelling of a country storekeeper!" muttered Merton. "That's all
you are!"

This was intended to be scornful. Merton meant that on the screen it
would be recognized as this and nothing more. It could not be taken
for the mansion of a rich banker, or the country home of a Wall
Street magnate. He felt that he had been keen in his dispraise,
especially as old Gashwiler would never get the sting of it. Clod!

Three blocks brought him to the heart of the town, still throbbing
faintly. He stood, irresolute, before the Giddings House. Chairs in
front of this hostelry were now vacant of loafers, and a clatter of
dishes came through the open windows of the dining room, where
supper was on. Farther down the street Selby Brothers, Cigars and
Confectionery, would be open; lights shone from the windows of the
Fashion Pool Parlour across the way; the City Drug Store could still
be entered; and the post office would stay open until after the mail