Edward would mildly ignore this challenge.

"He has a house on what they call Russian Hill, and he can watch the
vessels as they come in from Japan," he would continue in his precise
voice, emphasizing admirably the last syllables of the words "Russian,"
"vessels," and "Japan." "Wouldn't you like to see the letter?"

To do Hannah justice, although she was quite incapable of sharing his
passion, she frequently feigned an interest, took the letter, presently
handing it on to Janet who, in deciphering Alpheus's trembling
calligraphy, pondered over his manifold woes. Alpheus's son, who had had
a good position in a sporting goods establishment on Market Street, was
sick and in danger of losing it, the son's wife expecting an addition to
the family, the house on Russian Hill mortgaged. Alpheus, a veteran of
the Civil War, had been for many years preparing his reminiscences,
but the newspapers nowadays seemed to care nothing for matters of solid
worth, and so far had refused to publish them.... Janet, as she read,
reflected that these letters invariably had to relate tales of failures,
of disappointed hopes; she wondered at her father's perennial interest
in failures,--provided they were those of his family; and the next
evening, as he wrote painfully on his ruled paper, she knew that he in
turn was pouring out his soul to Alpheus, recounting, with an emotion
by no means unpleasurable, to this sympathetic but remote relative the
story of his own failure!

If the city of Hampton was emblematic of our modern world in which
haphazardness has replaced order, Fillmore Street may be likened to
a back eddy of the muddy and troubled waters, in which all sorts of
flotsam and jetsam had collected. Or, to find perhaps an even more
striking illustration of the process that made Hampton in general and
Fillmore Street in particular, one had only to take the trolley to
Glendale, the Italian settlement on the road leading to the old New
England village of Shrewsbury. Janet sometimes walked there, alone or
with her friend Eda Rawle. Disintegration itself--in a paradoxically
pathetic attempt at reconstruction--had built Glendale. Human
hands, Italian hands. Nor, surprising though it may seem, were these
descendants of the people of the Renaissance in the least offended by
their handiwork. When the southern European migration had begun and real
estate became valuable, one by one the more decorous edifices of the old
American order had been to