There are all sorts
of things."
"I didn't know."
"No. Since the town began growing so great that it called itself
'greater,' one could live here all one's life and know only the side
of it that shows."
"The beauty-workers seem buried very deep," said Bibbs. "And I
imagine that your friend who makes the smoke beautiful must be buried
deepest of all. My father loves the smoke, but I can't imagine his
buying one of your friend's pictures. He'd buy the 'Bay of Naples,'
but he wouldn't get one of those. He'd think smoke in a picture was
horrible--unless he could use it for an advertisement."
"Yes," she said, thoughtfully. "And really he's the town. They ARE
buried pretty deep, it seems, sometimes, Bibbs."
"And yet it's all wonderful," he said. "It's wonderful to me."
"You mean the town is wonderful to you?"
"Yes, because everything is, since you called me your friend. The
city is only a rumble on the horizon for me. It can't come any closer
than the horizon so long as you let me see you standing by my old
zinc-eater all day long, helping me. Mary--" He stopped with a gasp.
"That's the first time I've called you 'Mary'!"
"Yes.
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