All work was suspended the day of Jack's funeral.
Spalton eloquently read the curious, crude composition of his disciple ... which had fine flashes, as of lightning in a dark sky, here and there, in it.
Then Spalton began adding words of his own, in praise of the deceased—
"You all know this dear comrade of ours," he began, "this dear friend whose really fine soul, while in the body—went under the appellation of Gabby Jack—"
Here Spalton broke down. He unashamedly dropped into the chair behind the reading-desk and wept aloud. He could say no more....
In The Dawn for the ensuing month he put a wonderful and beautiful tribute to his disciple ... who had thoroughly loved, and believed in him.
On a cold day of blowing snow, "Pete" came tramping in to town ... his high boots laced to the knees, a heavy alpaca coat about him ... he had come all the way from Philadelphia on foot, to add his portrait to our gallery of eccentrics ... but he was not so unusual after all ... there was too much of the hungry hardness of youth in him, the cocksureness of conceit which he considered genius.