At that it
suddenly struck him that he was twenty-nine years of age; that he had
laughed a great deal that evening; that he had laughed and laughed over
things not in the least humorous, like an excited schoolboy making his
first formal call; that he had shaken hands with Miss Briscoe when he left
her, as if he should never see her again; that he had taken Miss
Sherwood's hand twice in one very temporary parting; that he had shaken
the judge's hand five times, and William's four!
"Idiot!" he cried. "What has happened to me?" Then he shook his fist at
the moon and went in to work--he thought.
CHAPTER VII
MORNING: "SOME IN RAGS AND SOME IN TAGS AND SOME IN VELVET GOWNS"
The bright sun of circus-day shone into Harkless's window, and he awoke to
find himself smiling. For a little while he lay content, drowsily
wondering why he smiled, only knowing that there was something new. It was
thus, as a boy, he had wakened on his birthday mornings, or on Christmas,
or on the Fourth of July, drifting happily out of pleasant dreams into the
consciousness of long-awaited delights that had come true, yet lying only
half-awake in a cheerful borderland, leaving happiness undefined.
The morning breeze was fluttering at his window blind; a honeysuckle vine
tapped lightly on the pane. Birds were trilling, warbling, whistling.
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