Excerpt from The Passport

Richard warden, third, sat at the window of his lofty and comfortable apartment looking across the river at the little lights.

There were myriads of them, ¿ickering in the rem nant of a gale that was blowing, with a few stray raindrops, late comers in an afternoon shower, ticking monotonously against the windows.

He was Richard Warden, third, because his father, also Richard, was still living - as was his grandfather. He would have been Richard Warden, tenth or elev cuth, but for the fact that the grandfather was the last living of the earlier Richard Wardens.

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