Page:Stringer - Lonely O'Malley.djvu/239

 ablution flowered into anything more tangible than a deep-seated hatred for antimacassars, rockaways, and Sunday School books of the Agatha Doring type.

It is also worthy of record that he packed away, with that solemn and studious sense of finality which should mark all last burials, his tight-fitting and prickly little black suit, once proudly known as his "Sunday Best." He buried it deep in his mother's bottom bureau drawer, under many layers of faded winter blankets. And he hoped with all his heart and soul that he would never see the darned old rags again!

"Oh, me poor boy!" sighed Lonely's mother, as she came upon them once, many a year later,and carefully refolded and replaced them, bedewed with a seemingly inconsequential tear or two.