Chapter IX. Convention’s Own Tinder-box: The Eye That Is Green

           

           Hurstwood’sresidenceontheNorthSide,nearLincolnPark,wasabrickbuildingofaverypopulartypethen,athree-storyaffairwiththefirstfloorsunkaverylittlebelowthelevelofthestreet.Ithadalargebaywindowbulgingoutfromthesecondfloor,andwasgracedinfrontbyasmallgrassyplot,twenty-fivefeetwideandtenfeetdeep.Therewasalsoasmallrearyard,walledinbythefencesoftheneighboursandholdingastablewherehekepthishorseandtrap.

           Thetenroomsofthehousewereoccupiedbyhimself,hiswifeJulia,andhissonanddaughter,George,Jr.,andJessica.Therewerebesidestheseamaid-servant,representedfromtimetotimebygirlsofvariousextraction,forMrs.Hurstwoodwasnotalwayseasytoplease.

           “George,IletMarygoyesterday,”wasnotanunfrequentsalutationatthedinnertable.

           “Allright,”washisonlyreply.Hehadlongsinceweariedofdiscussingtherancoroussubject.

           Alovelyhomeatmosphereisoneoftheflowersoftheworld,thanwhichthereisnothingmoretender,nothingmoredelicate,nothingmorecalculatedtomakestrongandjustthenaturescradledandnourishedwithinit.Thosewhohaveneverexperiencedsuchabeneficentinfluencewillnotunderstandwhereforethetearspringsglisteningtotheeyelidsatsomestrangebreathinlovelymusic.Themysticchordswhichbindandthrilltheheartofthenation,theywillneverknow.

           Hurstwood’sresidencecouldscarcelybesaidtobeinfusedwiththishomespirit.Itlackedthattolerationandregardwithoutwhichthehomeisnothing.

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