XXVII MR. LORING REFLECTS

Henry K. Loring sat back in his machine, homeward bound, his head deep in the collar of his overcoat, his eyes under their shaggy brows peering out of the windows of the limousine. His heavy hands, one over the other, grasped the handle of his cane, which stood upright between his firmly planted feet. He looked out of the windows at the quickly c