Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. "You will not hesitate to break it, if it suits your purpose. Excited by the scene, Jack, however, could pay little attention to the good man's discourse, and was lost in a whirl of tumultuous emotions. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. \" \"Oh, come on!\" Shari exclaimed, putting her cocoa down and burying her face in a fat white pillow. Wild hasn't been to inquire after him to-day," observed Langley; "it's the first time he's missed doing so since the trial. Returning in moments, Mr.
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