The Giant Horse of Oz by Ruth Plumly Thompson

In the dusty shop of Dan, the second-hand man, there was no sound except the whirr of a rickety sewing machine in the back room. Dan bought old clothes which he mended and pressed and sold again to people who could not afford new ones. Usually he spent every evening in his dim little Boston shop, but to-night Dan's niece was to be married, and the old clothes man was hurriedly stitching up a rent in a dress suit he had bought that very morning from a dusky gentleman in Grant street. It was worn and shabby, but surveying himself in the cracked mirror a few moments later Danny felt he would look quite as fine as the groom. Well pleased with his appearance he nodded to his reflection and taking down a second-hand high hat from his shelf let himself out into the night.

It was a warm starry evening in May and, coming to the end of the narrow street in which he lived, Dan struck out across a small park, whistling softly to himself. He would have preferred his pipe, but in honor of the grand occasion had purchased a handful of five cent cigars. Placing one between his teeth, he fumbled in his pocket for the box of matches he had surely placed there before starting. His fingers closed instead on a small leather book.