n views and opinions on this subject, and
I claim the privilege of expressing them as a gentleman should. I have
been to see Choate on this business; and me and Choate will see that
justice is done to the unfortunate."

"Be still, Fitz!" said his mother.

"I will not be still, mother," protested Mr. Wittleworth. "I will not
stand still and have you imposed upon."

The banker sprang out of his chair, and his late clerk retreated a pace
or two.

"Mr. Checkynshaw, I have only one word to say," he added, placing
himself near enough to the door to effect a hasty retreat in case of
necessity. "My mother is disposed to accept your offer of ten thousand
dollars for a quitclaim deed of the block of stores. I don't intend
that she shall do anything of the kind. I've been to my lawyer, sir--a
gentleman recommended by Choate; for Choate is so busy that he can't
attend to the case personally; and my lawyer says that none but a _non
compos_ would give a quitclaim deed to the property. If my mother sees
fit to sign any such paper, my lawyer will take steps to restrain her,
sir. Those are my views. I've nothing more to say, Mr. Checkynshaw."

Mr. Wittleworth tipped his hat over on one side, thrust his thumbs into
his arm-holes, and pursed up his lips again, as though he had already
set the river on fire. His mother was angry and disgusted with him, as
she often had occasion to be.

"Is the quitclaim deed ready, Mr. Checkynshaw?" asked the poor woman.

"No; but it shall be ready, and the check with it to-morrow."

"Mother," exclaimed Fitz, in warning tones,--and he evidently did not
place much dependence upon the restraining power of his lawyer,--"you
promised not to sign any paper to-day."

"And you promised to behave yourself, Fitz, if I permitted you to come
with me. I can't depend upon you, and I am going to accept Mr.
Checkynshaw's offer," retorted his mother, sharply.

"You are?" gasped Fitz.

"I am; and if the paper was ready, I would sign it this moment. Will
you let me take this letter home with me, Mr. Checkynshaw?"

"Certainly, Ellen," replied the banker, graciously.

"I used to read French a little when I was a girl, and I may be able to
study out some of it."

"As you like; but when you come again, don't bring that boy with you."

Mrs. Wittleworth and her son retired. On their way home, an angry
discussion ensued. Fitz raved at the weakness of women in general, and
of his mother in particular; but she firm