The Mayor sighed a little and gave himself up to old memories while the Corporal held the picture in his hand. "Soft Jack ... aye, that was his name.... I can see him now with his white beard and long hair ... I'm speakin' of fifty years ago. Soft Jack, yes ... had been a good painter so they said ... but an old man, then. Used to sit by the Weir painting the sun on the water. I've pitched many a stone at his easel ... in the summertime after bathing." The Corporal was too absorbed in the picture to heed the Mayor's reminiscences. Josiah laughed softly at his thoughts and chose a second cigar. "Too small to be worth much," he said. "But Melia might like it. She was always a one for pictures. We'll pop a bit o' the _Tribune_ round it and she can stick it in the front parlor up at Dibley where the old boy lived and died." XLVI The next morning, Monday, towards eleven o'clock, Sally dropped expertly off the municipal tram, without waiting for it to stop, at the second turn on the right past the Brewery, along the suburban end of the Corfield Road, and entered a street that she had never seen before. Torrington Avenue was one of those thoroughfares on the edge of large cities that seem to spring into being in a day and a night. In spite of the obvious haste with which its small houses had been flung together it was not unpleasing. But when Sally was last in her native city, a year before the war, this area had been a market garden. Number Fourteen was a well kept little dwelling in the middle of a neat row. Just as Sally reached it, an old woman with a wicker shopping basket came out of the iron gate. "Mrs. Nixey?" The visitor had recognized the old lady but the converse did not hold true. "You don't remember me, Mrs. Nixey. I'm Sally Munt." The old lady gave vent to surprise, pleasure, incredulity. But even then she was not able to identify one who but a few years ago had been almost as familiar to her as her own son until Sally had lifted her cap and rolled back the fur collar of her immense khaki overcoat. "Well, I never!" The old woman's voice was shrill and excited. "It _is_ Miss Munt. I _am_ pleased to see you, my dear." The distinguished visitor suddenly received a peck on a firm brown cheek. "He knows all about you. I read him the account of the doings at the Floral Hall. He wanted to be there, but the Doctor thought it wouldn't be good for him. It _is_ kind of you to come and see him.... It'll please him so." Sally cut the old lady short with a brief, pointed question or two. He was very well in health except that he couldn't see, but he was always telling his mother that he was quite sure he would be able to see presently, although Dr. Minyard had told her privately that he couldn't promise anything. The old lady led the way along the short path and applied a latchkey to the front door. As it opened, Sally caught the delicately played notes of a piano floating softly across the tiny hall.