rned the  matter of his behavior when  he got to the city.  "Be a sharp
one," Tom Willard  had said. "Keep your eyes on your money. Be awake. That's
the ticket. Don't let anyone think you're a greenhorn."
     After George counted his money  he  looked  out of  the  window and was
surprised to see that the train was still in Winesburg.
     The  young man, going out of  his town  to meet the  adventure of life,
began to think but he did not think of anything very big or dramatic. Things
like  his mother's death, his  departure from Winesburg, the  uncertainty of
his future life in the city, the serious and  larger aspects of his life did
not come into his mind.
     He thought of  little things--Turk Smollet wheeling boards  through the
main street  of his town in the  morning, a  tall woman, beautifully gowned,
who had once stayed overnight at his father's hotel, Butch  Wheeler the lamp
lighter  of Winesburg hurrying through the streets  on a  summer evening and
holding a  torch  in  his hand,  Helen White  standing by  a window  in  the
Winesburg post office and putting a stamp on an envelope.
     The  young  man's mind was  carried  away by  his growing  passion  for
dreams. One looking at him  would not  have  thought him particularly sharp.
With the recollection of little things occupying his mind he closed his eyes
and leaned back in the car seat. He stayed that way for a long time and when
he aroused himself  and  again looked  out of  the  car  window the  town of
Winesburg had disappeared  and his life there had become but a background on
which to paint the dreams of his manhood.