in business; Blandford for his pride, juleps; marksmanship, and vast
slave-cultivated plantations.

Then came the Civil War. (I must condense this historical
interpolation.) Stonewall Jackson was shot; Lee surrendered; Grant
toured the world; cotton went to nine cents; Old Crow whiskey and Jim
Crow cars were invented; the Seventy-ninth Massachusetts Volunteers
returned to the Ninety-seventh Alabama Zouaves the battle flag of
Lundy's Lane which they bought at a second-hand store in Chelsea, kept
by a man named Skzchnzski; Georgia sent the President a sixty-pound
watermelon--and that brings us up to the time when the story begins.
My! but that was sparring for an opening! I really must brush op on my
Aristotle.

The Yankee Carterets went into business in New York long before the war.
Their house, as far as Leather Belting and Mill Supplies was concerned,
was as musty and arrogant and solid as one of those old East India
tea-importing concerns that you read about in Dickens. There were some
rumors of a war behind its counters, but not enough to affect the
business.

During and after the war, Blandford Carteret, F.F.V., lost his
plantations, juleps, marksmanship, and life. He bequeathed little
more than his pride to his surviving family. So it came to pass that
Blandford Carteret, the Fifth, aged fifteen, was invited by the
leather-and-mill-supplies branch of that name to come North and learn
business instead of hunting foxes and boasting of the glory of his
fathers on the reduced acres of his impoverished family. The boy jumped
at the chance; and, at the age of twenty-five, sat in the office of the
firm equal partner with John, the Fifth, of the blunderbuss-and-turkey
branch. Here the story begins again.

The young men were about the same age, smooth of face, alert, easy of
manner, and with an air that promised mental and physical quickness.
They were razored, blue-serged, straw-hatted, and pearl stick-pinned
like other young New Yorkers who might be millionaires or bill clerks.

One afternoon at four o'clock, in the private office of the firm,
Blandford Carteret opened a letter that a clerk had just brought to his
desk. After reading it, he chuckled audibly for nearly a minute. John
looked around from his desk inquiringly.

"It's from mother," said Blandford. "I'll read you the funny part of
it. She tells me all the neighborhood news first, of course, and then
cautions me against getting my feet wet and musical com