obvious villagers, and having a manner, a carriage, an attire, such
as further set him apart. Still, he could never be sure about this.
Perhaps no one ever did single him out as a being patently of the
greater world. Perhaps they considered that he was rightly of
Simsbury and would continue to be a part of it all the days of his
life; or perhaps they wouldn't notice him at all. They had been
passing Simsburys all day, and all Simsburys and all their peoples
must look very much alike to them. Very well--a day would come.
There would be at Simsbury a momentous stop of No. 4 and another
passenger would be in that dining car, disjoined forever from
Simsbury, and he with them would stare out the polished windows at
the gaping throng, and he would continue to stare with incurious
eyes at still other Simsburys along the right of way, while the
proud train bore him off to triumphs never dreamed of by natural-
born villagers.

He decided now not to tantalize himself with a glance at this
splendid means of escape from all that was sordid. He was still not
a little depressed by the late unpleasantness with Gashwiler, who
had thought him a crazy fool, with his revolver, his fiercely
muttered words, and his holding aloft of a valuable dummy as if to
threaten it with destruction. Well, some day the old grouch would
eat his words; some day he would be relating to amazed listeners
that he had known Merton Gill intimately at the very beginning of
his astounding career. That was bound to come. But to-night Merton
had no heart for the swift spectacle of No. 4. Nor even, should it
halt, did he feel up to watching those indifferent, incurious
passengers who little recked that a future screen idol in natty
plush hat and belted coat amusedly surveyed them. To-night he must
be alone--but a day would come. Resistless Time would strike his