generations,
were humbled at last. To be humbled meant, in Mr. Hopper's philosophy,
to lose one's money. It was thus he gauged the importance of his
acquaintances; it was thus he hoped some day to be gauged. And he
trusted and believed that the time would come when he could give
his fillip to the upper rim of fortune's wheel, and send it spinning
downward.

Mr. Hopper was drinking his tea and silently forming an estimate. He
concluded that young Brice was not the type to acquire the money which
his father had lost. And he reflected that Stephen must feel as strange
in St. Louis as a cod might amongst the cat-fish in the Mississippi.
So the assistant manager of Carvel & Company resolved to indulge in the
pleasure of patronizing the Bostonian.

"Callatin' to go to work?" he asked him, as the boarders walked into the
best room.

"Yes," replied Stephen, taken aback. And it may be said here that, if
Mr. Hopper underestimated him, certainly he underestimated Mr. Hopper.

"It ain't easy to get a job this Fall," said Eliphalet, "St. Louis
houses have felt the panic."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"What business was you callatin' to grapple with?"

"Law," said Stephen.

"Gosh!" exclaimed Mr. Hopper, "I want to know." In reality he was a
bit chagrined, having pictured with some pleasure the Boston aristocrat
going from store to store for a situation. "You didn't come here
figurin' on makin' a pile, I guess."

"A what?"

"A pile."

Stephen looked down and over Mr. Hopper attentively. He took in the
blocky shoulders and the square head, and he pictured the little eyes at
a vanishing-point in lines of a bargain. Then humor blessed humor--came
to his rescue. He had entered the race in the West, where all start
equal. He had come here, like this man who was succeeding, to make his
living. Would he succeed?

Mr. Hopper drew something out of his pocket, eyed Miss Crane, and bit
off a corner.

"What office was you going into?" he asked genially. Mr. Brice decided
to answer that.

"Judge Whipple's--unless he has changed his mind." Eliphalet gave him a
look more eloquent than words.

"Know the Judge?"

Silent laughter.

"If all the Fourth of Julys we've had was piled into one," said Mr.
Hopper, slowly and with conviction, "they wouldn't be a circumstance to
Silas Whipple when he gets mad. My boss, Colonel Carvel, is the only
man in town who'll stand up to him. I've seen 'em begin a quarrel in the
store and carry i