Politics is much too complex a phenomenon for anyone to think of it or describe it in straight lines, and since the vast and ever-growing tribe of politicians practices this art, they too seldom act or plan straight.
One evening before dinner, the narrator’s father was glancing through the evening paper. Suddenly he let out a cry of surprises. There was news about his first teacher. “Mr. Crossett”. It was surprising news for him. He thought that Mr. Crossett had died at least twenty years. But he was still alive.
The writer speaks of his own grandmother. By the time, he wrote the story, she was quite old and all her hairs had been white. Her wrinkled face and body gave him a kind of surprise.