said, 'I haven't come
to my dotage yet, and when I get there, I'm going to take up something a
little bigger than an insect. From a railroad to an ant is too long a
jump."

"But this auction, General, I'm very much worried about it. You know I'd
always intended to take over that mortgage, but, to tell the truth, it
escaped my memory."

"Oh, leave that to me, leave that to me," responded the great man
serenely. "Theophilus ain't going to suffer, but a little discipline
won't do him any harm."

His plan was well laid, I saw, but the best-laid plans, as the great man
himself might have informed me, are not always those that are destined
to reach maturity. When I had parted from him, I fell, almost
unconsciously, to scheming on my own account, and the result was that
before going into my office, I looked up the real estate agent who had
charge of the auction, and took over the mortgage which too great an
indulgence in roses had forced upon Dr. Theophilus. In my luncheon hour
I rushed up to the house, where I found Mrs. Clay, with a big wooden
ladle in her hand, wandering distractedly between the outside kitchen
and the little garden, where the doctor was placidly spraying his roses
with a solution of kerosene oil.

"I knew it would come," said the poor lady, in tears; "no amount of
preserves and pickles could support the extravagance of Theophilus. More
than two years ago George Bolingbroke warned me that I should end my
days in the poorhouse, and it has come at last. As for Theophilus, even
the thought of the poorhouse does not appear to disturb him. He does
nothing but walk around and repeat some foolish Latin verse about
AEquam--aequam--until I am sick of the very sound--"

When I explained to her that the auction would be postponed, at least
for another century, she recovered her temper and her spirit, and
observed emphatically that she hoped the lesson would do Theophilus
good.

"May I go out to him now?"

"Oh, yes, you'll find him somewhere in the garden. He has just been in
with a watering-pot to ask for kerosene oil."

In the centre of the gravelled walk, between the shining rows of oyster
shells, the doctor stood energetically spraying his roses. At the sound
of my step he looked round with a tranquil face, his long white hair
blowing in the breeze above his spectacles, which he wore, as usual when
he was not reading, pushed up on his forehead.

"Ah, Ben, you find us afflicted, but not despondent," he