The Jovial Ghosts: The Misadventures of Topper by Thorne Smith

Thus began for Mr. Topper an unusual experience, to say the least. Not knowing the circumstances, his friends chastely called it demoralising. But not so Mr. Topper. For the first time in his life he consciously, nay, deliberately, assumed a minority rôle. For the first time he permitted himself to deal with abstract things without feeling that he had sinned. For the first time Topper's established routine of living gave place to a disorderly desire to live. And for the first time on an evening in June, Topper wonderingly considered the stars, not in relation to a smart New Jersey town, but in the relation of the town to the stars.

This was the second phase of Topper's secret life. It was in this phase that he came to regard the place in which he lived as a pool fed by the withering souls of people who had passed up life. They were usual people, the people who fed this pool. They had been accepted and asked out to places. They commuted, propagated, and entertained with impartial uniformity. In all the things of life they used the same time-table. Mr. Topper could not call them vicious. That was the trouble. Topper bent his brain over an abstract problem. His friends would have been surprised had they seen the man actually screwing his face into childish wrinkles over such a time-consuming thought.