s execration: "Oh, this miserable world--this infernal pot
where men are boiled!" He rolled his eyes like a choking ox, and after
a short silence, asked: "Young fellow, do you know what I'd do if I
were of your age?"

"If you were of my temperament as well as of my age I don't think
you'd do much of anything."

"Yes, I would; I would confer a degree of high favor on myself. I
would cut my throat, sir."

"Pardon me, but is it too late at your time of life?"

"Yes, for my nerve is diseased and I am a coward, an infamous,
doddering old coward, sir. Good God! to live for years in darkness,
bumping against the sharp corners of conscience. I have never told
Henry, but I don't mind telling you that at times I am almost mad. For
years I have sought to read myself out of it, but to an unsettled mind
a book is a sly poison--the greatest of books are but the records of
trouble. Don't you say a word to Henry. He thinks that my mind is as
sound as a new acorn, but it isn't."

"I won't--but, by the way, he is young; why don't you advise him to
kill himself?"

The old fellow flounced off the sofa and stood bulging his eyes at
DeGolyer.

"Don't you ever say such a thing as that again!" he snorted. "Why,
confound your hide! would you have that boy dead?"

DeGolyer threw down his pen. "No, I would have him live forever in his
thoughtless and beautiful paradise; I would not pull him down to the
thoughtful man's hell of self-communion."

"Look here, young man, you must have a history."

"No, simply an ill-written essay."

"Who was your father?"

"A fool."

"Ah, I grant you. And who was your mother?"

"An angel."

"No, sir, she--I beg your pardon," the old man quickly added. "You are
sensitive, sir."

DeGolyer, sadly smiling, replied: "He who suffered in childhood, and
who in after life has walked hand in hand with disappointment, and is
then not sensitive, is a brute."

"How well do I know the truth of that! DeGolyer, I have been
acquainted with you but a short time, but you appeal to me strongly,
sir. And I could almost tell you something, but it is something that I
ought to keep to myself. I could make you despise me and then offer me
your regard as a compromise. Oh, that American republic of ours,
fought for by men who scorned the romance of kingly courts, is not so
commonplace a country after all. Many strange things happen there, and
some of them are desperately foul. Is that Henry coming? Hush."

The young m