Theodore Dreiser

He was not destined to be a great financier, though he was marked out to be a moderately successful one.

Those large, clear gray eyes were full of intelligence. They indicated much and revealed nothing.

People think what you want them to think.

Her smile was something like a hat or belt or ornament which one puts on or off at will.

The strongest have their hours of depression.

How little all else mattered where he was concerned.

he had anticipated it so long that the charm of it had been discounted to a certain extent.

e lacked in a great measure

flustered—this last manifested in a nervous swinging of her

more. It was set with handsome parks, notable buildings, and crowded with historic memories. Many of the things that we and he knew later were not then in existence—the telegraph, telephone, express company, ocean steamer, city delivery of mails. There were no postage-stamps or registered letters. The street car had not arrived. In its place were hosts of omnibuses, and for longer travel the slowly developing railroad system still largely connected by canals.
Cowperwood's father was a bank clerk at the time of Frank's birth, but ten years later, when the boy was already beginning to turn a very sensible, vigorous eye on the world, Mr. Henry Worthington Cowperwood, because of the death of the bank's president and the consequent moving ahead of the other officers, fell heir to the place vacated by the promoted teller, at the, to him, munificent salary of thirty-five hundred dollars a year. At once he decided, as he told his wife joyously, to remove his family from 21 Buttonwood Street to 124 New Market Street, a much better neighborhood, where there was a nice brick house of three stories in height as opposed to their present two-storied domicile. There was the probability that some day they would come into something even better, but for the present this was sufficient. He was exceedingly grateful.
Henry Worthington Cowperwood was a man who believed only