They parted; Sherman to set his lines and Howard to his hotel in high spirits, for it seemed to him he had been eloquent. The billiard-room, which opened on the street, was lighted up. A few young men came round to play sometimes. He went in, for among these provincial youths he felt distinguished; besides, he was a really good player. As he came in one of the players missed and swore. Howard reproved him with a look. He joined the play for a time, and then catching sight through a distant door of the hotel-keeper’s wife putting a kettle on the hob he hurried off, and, drawing a chair to the fire, began one of those long gossips about everybody’s affairs peculiar to the cloth. As Sherman, having set his lines, returned home, he passed a tobacconist’s--a sweet-shop and tobacconist’s in one--the only shop in town, except public-houses, that remained open. The tobacconist was standing in his door, and, recognizing one who dealt consistently with a rival at the other end of the town, muttered: ‘There goes that Jack o’ Dreams; been fishing most likely. Ugh!’ Sherman paused for a moment as he repassed the bridge and looked at the water, on which now a new-risen and crescent moon was shining dimly. How full of memories it was to him! what playmates and boyish adventures did it not bring to mind! To him it seemed to say, ‘Stay near to me,’ as to Howard it had said, ‘Go yonder, to those other joys and other sceneries I have told you of.’ It bade him who loved stay still and dream, and gave flying feet to him who imagined. II The house where Sherman and his mother lived was one of those bare houses so common in country towns. Their dashed fronts mounting above empty pavements have a kind of dignity in their utilitarianism. They seem to say, ‘Fashion has not made us, nor ever do its caprices pass our sand-cleaned doorsteps.’ On every basement window is the same dingy wire blind; on every door the same brass knocker. Custom everywhere! ‘So much the longer,’ the blinds seem to say, ‘have eyes glanced through us’; and the knockers to murmur, ‘And fingers lifted us.’