A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the old. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment.
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