"Lantry. I'll be good. Thanks ever so much. See you next Hallows' Eve!"
"Aren't you the clever one." She laughed. "If there were a Hallows' Eve, I'd make it a date."
"But they burned that, too," he said.
"Oh, they burned everything," she said. "Good night."
"Good night." And he went on out.
Oh, how carefully he was balanced in this world! Like some kind of dark gyroscope, whirling with never a murmur, a very silent man. As he walked along the eight o'clock evening street he noticed with particular interest that there was not an unusual amount of lights about. There were the usual street lights at each corner, but the blocks themselves were only faintly illuminated. Could it be that these remarkable people were not afraid of the dark? Incredible nonsense! Every one was afraid of the dark. Even he himself had been afraid, as a child. It was as natural as eating.
A little boy ran by on pelting feet, followed by six others. They yelled and shouted and rolled on the dark cool October lawn, in the leaves. Lantry looked on for several minutes before addressing himself to one of the small boys who was for a moment taking a respite, gathering his breath into his small lungs, as a boy might blow to refill a punctured paper bag.
"Here, now," said Lantry. "You'll wear yourself out."
"Sure," said the boy.