"I wound up the ball of an extended spree the other day, but I am not going to drink any more."
"I hope your resolution may hold out."
"I will give it many a half-soling."
"Well, you may begin regular work to-morrow morning."
"All right, sir."
Within two months from that time Mr. Howell was one of the best dressed men in the town. People who had commented on his shabby appearance now called him handsome. He joined the Good Templars' lodge and mingled in the society of the tittering maidens of the village. Doctors and lawyers sought his company. He had brought a literary freshness to the town. His jokes were new; his courtesy marked. One year passed away. Mr. Howell was engaged to marry the handsomest and most intelligent young woman in the town. The girl's father and mother were delighted. Howell was envied by all the young men. The day for the wedding drew near. The "popular and enterprising tailor" had made Howell's wedding suit.
One day another tramp entered the office. Howell dropped his "make-up rule" and sprang forward to meet him.
"Why, Shorty, how are you?"
"Sorter slow," the tramp replied as he placed his elbows on the imposing-stone. "How is it with you?"
"Oh, I am flying. Going to get married to-morrow night."