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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

Why, if I drop into the Magnolia
on my way up-town and forget to wear a derby hat with a sack coat,
or a black tie with a dinner-jacket, everybody winks and nudges
his neighbor. Did you ever hear of such nonsense in your life?"
The boy paused as if the memory of some incident in which he was
ridiculed was alive in his mind. Peter's eyes were still fixed on
his face.
"Go on--I'm listening; and what else hurts you? Pour it all out.
That's what I came for. You said last night nobody would listen--I
will."
"Well, then, I hate the sham of it all; the silly social
distinctions; the fits and starts of hospitality; the dinners
given for show. Nothing else going on between times; even the
music is hired. I want to hear music that bubbles out--old Hannah
singing in the kitchen, and Tom, my father's old butler, whistling
to himself--and the dogs barking, and the birds singing outside.
I'm ashamed of myself making comparisons, but that was the kind of
life I loved, because there was sincerity in it."
"No work?" There was a note of sly merriment in the inquiry, but
Jack never caught it.


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