"Thames, this is no forgery. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. 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 seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite. ToC Twelve years! How many events have occurred during that long interval! how many changes have taken place! The whole aspect of things is altered. Thames did not attempt to offer him any consolation, for he was almost as much dejected. " "And what'll we get for the job, yer hon'r?" asked the foremost chairman, who, like most of his tribe at the time, was an Irishman.
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