For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. There’s something about you, a little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel—good luck about you and success. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. She still had her letter of credit. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him.
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