go on so smoothly without me as they do with me," added
Mr. Wittleworth, as he canted his hat over a little more on one side,
and pulled up his shirt collar.

"Without you!" gasped the banker, confounded by the assumption of his
employee.

"Perhaps you will find it so, after you have done your worst."

"Conceited puppy! I took you into my office out of charity! Go to your
place. Charity can do no more for you."

"If you can afford to discharge me, I can afford to be discharged,"
replied Mr. Wittleworth, as he stroked his chin, and walked out of the
shop.

"The young vagabond!" muttered Mr. Checkynshaw. "I took him to keep his
mother from starving. Andre," he added, imperiously.

The barber with the effeminate voice and the silky hands turned from
the customer he was shaving, and bowed politely to the magnate of the
house of Checkynshaw, Hart, & Co.

"Andre, my daughter Elinora goes to a juvenile party this evening, and
wishes you to dress her hair at four o'clock."

"Yes, sir; with Mr. Cutts's permission, I will attend her at that
hour."

Mr. Checkynshaw looked as though Mr. Cutts's permission was not at all
necessary when he desired anything; but Mr. Cutts did not venture to
interpose any obstacle to the wish of a person so influential as the
banker. Mr. Checkynshaw turned to leave, went as far as the door, and
then returned.

"Andre," he continued, "you spoke to me of a boy of yours."

"My adopted son, sir," replied the barber.

"I don't care whether he is your son, or your adopted son. What sort of
a boy is he?"

"He is a very good boy, sir," answered Andre.

"Can he read and write?"

"Very well indeed, sir. The master of his school says he will take the
medal at the close of the year."

"I shall discharge that puppy, and I want a good boy in his place. Send
him to me at half past two this afternoon."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Checkynshaw. Perhaps I spoke too soon, sir; but
I did not want a place for him till next vacation."

"Send him up, and I will talk with him," said the banker, imperatively
and patronizingly, as he hurried out of the shop.

He was met at the door by a girl of fifteen, who modestly stepped out
of the way to let the magnate pass. She was dressed very plainly, but
very neatly, and in her hand she carried a tin pail. The loud talk of
the barber's shop politicians and the coarse jests of rude men ceased
as she walked behind the long line of chairs to that where Andre was at
w