"I had a letter from home today," said the white-bearded Philadelphian, "and it made me homesick. I would give a foot of that slushy pavement on Spruce Street for all these balmy airs and mockingbird solos in the South. I'm going to strike a bee line for the Quaker City in time for that fat turkey, I don't care what my house says." "Yust hear dot band playing," said the fat gentleman. "I can almost dink I vos back in Cincinnati 'neber die Rhein' mit dot schplendid little beautiful girl from de hat factory. I dink it is dese lovely nights vot makes us of home, sweet home, gedinken." "Now you're shoutin'," said the Chicago hardware drummer. "I wish I was in French Pete's restaurant on State Street with a big bottle of beer and some chitterlings and lemon pie. I'm feelin' kinder sentimental myself tonight." "The worst part of it is," said the man with the gold nose glasses and green necktie, "that our dear ones are separated from us by many long and dreary miles, and we little know what obstacles in the shape of storm and flood and wreck lie in our way. If we could but annihilate time and space for a brief interval there are many of us who would clasp the forms of those we love to our hearts tonight. I, too, am a husband and father." "That breeze," said the man from New York, "feels exactly like the ones that used to blow over the old farm in Montgomery County, and that 'orchard and meadow, and deep tangled wildwood,' etc., keep bobbing up in my memory tonight." "How many of us," said the man with gold glasses, "realize the many pitfalls that Fate digs in our path? What a slight thing may sever the cord that binds us to life! There today, tomorrow gone forever from the world!" "Too true," said the Philadelphia man, wiping his spectacles. "And leave those we love behind," continued the other. "The affections of a lifetime, the love of the strongest hearts, ended in the twinkling of an eye. One loses the clasp of hands that would detain and drifts away into the sad, unknowable, other existence, leaving aching hearts to mourn forever. Life seems all a tragedy." "Banged if you ain't rung the bell first shot," said the Chicago drummer. "Our affections get busted up something worse'n killing hogs." The others frowned upon the Chicago drummer, for the man with gold glasses was about to speak again. "We say," he went on, "that love will live forever, and yet when we are gone others step into our places and the wounds our loss had made are healed. And yet there is an added pang to death that those of us that are wise can avoid, the sting of death and the victory of the grave can be lessened. When we know that our hours are numbered, and when we lie with ebbing breath and there comes 'Unto dying ears the earliest pipe Of half awakened birds; And unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square,' there is sweet relief in knowing that those we leave behind us are shielded from want.