It was a bright morning, last November, in Gloversville, New York,
when we bought that tie. Now an explanation of just why we bought
that tie, and what we were doing in Gloversville, cannot possibly be
put into a paragraph, at any rate the kind of paragraph that Will
Howe (who used to be a professor of English) would approve. On the
whole, rather than rewrite the entire narrative, tersely, we will
have to postpone the denouement (of the story, not the tie) until
to-morrow. This is an exhibition of the difficulty of telling
anything exactly. There are so many subsidiary considerations that
beg for explanation. Please be patient, Pete, and to-morrow we will
explain that tie in detail.
II
It was a bright and transparent cold morning in Gloversville, N.Y.,
November, 1919, and passing out of the Kingsborough Hotel we set off
to have a look at the town. And if we must be honest, we were in
passable good humour. To tell the truth, as Gloversville began its
daily tasks in that clear lusty air and in a white dazzling
sunshine, we believed, simpleton that we were, that we were on the
road toward making our fortune. Now, we will have to be brief in
explanation of the reason why we felt so, for it is a matter not
easy to discuss with the requisite delicacy. Shortly, we were on the
road--"trouping," they call it in the odd and glorious world of the
theatre--with a little play in which we were partially incriminated,
on a try-out voyage of one-night stands.
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