The House of a Thousand Candles

"Brick-yards, sir," said Bates, waving his hand at
the stacks. "It's a considerable center for that kind of
business."

"Bricks without straw?" I asked, as we passed a
radiant saloon that blazed upon the board walk.

"Beg pardon, sir, but such places are the ruin of
men,"-on which remark I based a mental note that
Bates wished to impress me with his own rectitude.

He swung along beside me, answering questions with
dogged brevity. Clearly, here was a man who had reduced
human intercourse to a basis of necessity. I was
to be shut up with him for a year, and he was not likely
to prove a cheerful jailer. My feet struck upon a graveled
highway at the end of the village street, and I
heard suddenly the lapping of water.

"It's the lake, sir. This road leads right out to the
house," Bates explained.

I was doomed to meditate pretty steadily, I imagined,
on the beauty of the landscape in these parts, and I
was rejoiced to know that it was not all cheerless prairie
or gloomy woodland. The wind freshened cud blew
sharply upon us off the water.

"The fishing's quite good in season. Mr. Glenarm
used to take great pleasure in it. Bass,-yes, sir. Mr.
Glenarm held there was nothing quite equal to a black
bass."

I liked the way the fellow spoke of my grandfather.
He was evidently a loyal retainer. No doubt he could
summon from the past many pictures of my grandfather,
and I determined to encourage his confidence.