ork. Most of 'em's never
done a real day's work in their life. All they think of is dancing and
gambling and drinking. Look at the way they dress! Look at ..."

_Ad lib._

"That's so," the others would agree. "I was saying only yesterday ..."

Then, too, until a year or two before, he had taken active part in
business. He had retired only at the urging of Ma and the children. They
said he ought to rest and play and enjoy himself.

Now, as his strength and good spirits gradually returned he began to go
downtown, mornings. He would dress, carefully, though a little shakily.
He had always shaved himself and he kept this up. All in all, during the
day, he occupied the bathroom literally for hours, and this annoyed
Nettie to the point of frenzy, though she said nothing. He liked the
white cheerfulness of the little tiled room. He puddled about in the
water endlessly. Snorted and splashed and puffed and snuffled and blew.
He was one of those audible washers who emerge dripping and whose
ablutions are distributed impartially over ceiling, walls, and floor.

Nettie, at the closed door: "Father, are you all right?"

Splash! Prrrf! "Yes. Sure. I'm all right."

"Well, I didn't know. You've been in there so long."

He was a neat old man, but there was likely to be a spot or so on his
vest or his coat lapel, or his tie. Ma used to remove these, on or off
him, as the occasion demanded, rubbing carefully and scolding a little,
making a chiding sound between tongue and teeth indicative of great
impatience of his carelessness. He had rather enjoyed these sounds, and
this rubbing and scratching on the cloth with the fingernail and a
moistened rag. They indicated that someone cared. Cared about the way he
looked. Had pride in him. Loved him. Nettie never removed spots. Though
infrequently she said, "Father, just leave that suit out, will you? I'll
send it to the cleaner's with George's. The man's coming to-morrow
morning." He would look down at himself, hastily, and attack a spot here
and there with a futile fingernail.

His morning toilette completed, he would make for the Fifty-first Street
L. Seated in the train he would assume an air of importance and testy
haste; glance out of the window; look at his watch. You got the
impression of a handsome and well-preserved old gentleman on his way
downtown to consummate a shrewd business deal. He had been familiar with
Chicago's downtown for fifty years and he could remember when State