together these sums did not amount to a great
deal. To bring the saving up he came near cutting out the hospital.
However, he decided not to do so. Mrs. Wright believed in him. He would
leave out one of the pictures he had intended to buy; he would deny
himself, and not cut out the big charity. This would save him the
trouble of refusing Mrs. Wright and would also save him a good deal more
money.

Once more, at the thought of his self-denial, that ray of wintry
sunshine passed across Livingstone's cold face and gave it a look of
distinction--almost like that of a marble statue.

Again he relapsed into reflection. His eyes were resting on the pane
outside of which the fine snow was filling the chilly afternoon air in
flurries and scurries that rose and fell and seemed to be blowing every
way at once. But Livingstone's eyes were not on the snow. It had been so
long since Livingstone had given a thought to the weather, except as it
might affect the net earnings of railways in which he was interested,
that he never knew what the weather was, and so far as he was concerned
there need not have been any weather. Spring was to him but the season
when certain work could be done which in time would yield a crop of
dividends; and Autumn was but the time when crops would be moved and
stocks sent up or down.

So, though Livingstone's eyes rested on the pane, outside of which the
flurrying snow was driving that meant so much to so many people, and his
face was thoughtful--very thoughtful--he was not thinking of the snow,
he was calculating profits.

CHAPTER III

A noise in the outer office recalled Livingstone from his reverie. He
aroused himself, almost with a start, and glanced at the gilt clock just
above the stock-indicator. He had been so absorbed that he had quite
forgotten that he had told the clerks to wait for him. He had had no
idea that he had been at work so long. He reflected, however, that he
had been writing charity-cheques: the clerks ought to appreciate the
fact.

He touched a button, and the next second there was a gentle tap on the
door, and Clark appeared. He was just the person to give just such a
tap: a refined-looking, middle-aged, middle-sized man, with a face
rather pale and a little worn; a high, calm forehead, above which the
grizzled hair was almost gone; mild, blue eyes which beamed through
black-rimmed glasses; a pleasant mouth which a drooping, colorless
moustache only partly concealed,