Harold Frederic,
The Market-Place
“ Thorpe's thoughts, however, were not upon types. “Well”—he said, from the opposite chair, in his roundest, heartiest voice, when the other had with diffidence suffered himself to be served, and had deferentially lighted on one side the big cigar pressed upon him—“Well—and how's the world been using you?” “Not very handsomely, Mr. Thorpe,” the other responded, in a hushed, constrained tone. “Oh, chuck the Misters!” Thorpe bade him. “Aren't we old pals, man? You're plain Tavender, and I'm plain Thorpe.” ”
