In a great
measure, of course, this was due to the change in Waymark's
philosophy; whereas his early idealism had been revolted by what he
then deemed Mr. Woodstock's crass materialism and vulgarity, the
tolerance which had come with widened experience now made him regard
these characteristics with far less certainty of condemnation. He
was often merely amused at what had formerly enraged and disgusted
him. At the same time, there were changes in Abraham himself, no
doubt--at all events in his manner to the young man. He, on his
side, was also far more tolerant than in the days when he had
growled at Osmond for a conceited young puppy.
One Sunday morning in early July, Waymark was sitting alone in his
room, when he noticed that a cab stopped before the house. A minute
after, there was a knock at his door, an d, to his great surprise,
Mr. Woodstock entered, bearing a huge volume in his arms. Abraham
deposited it on a chair, wiped his forehead, and looked round the
room.
"You smoke poor tobacco," was his first remark, as he sniffed the
air.
"Good tobacco happens to be expensive," was the reply. "Will you sit
down?"
"Yes, I will." The chair creaked under him.
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