which sent him spinning away across the
sidewalk; the stream of passers-by swept in between them, and the boy
lost his job and the woman his service.

The man of success passed on.

CHAPTER V

If Livingstone had been in a huff when he left his office, by the time
he reached his home he was in a rage.

As he let himself in with his latch-key his expression for a moment
softened. The scene before him was one which might well have mellowed a
man just out of the snowy street. A spacious and handsome house, both
richly and artistically furnished, lay before him. Rich furniture,
costly rugs, fine pictures and rare books, gave evidence not only of his
wealth but of his taste. He was not a mere business machine, a mere
money-maker. He knew men who were. He despised them. He was a man of
taste and culture, a gentleman of refinement. He spent his money like a
gentleman, to surround himself with objects of art and to give himself
and his friends pleasure. Connoisseurs came to look at his fine
collection and to revel in his rare editions. Dealers had told him his
collection was worth double what it had cost him. He had frowned at the
suggestion; but it was satisfactory to know it.

As Livingstone entered his library and found a bright fire burning; his
favorite arm-chair drawn up to his especial table; his favorite books
lying within easy reach, he felt a momentary glow.

He stretched himself out before the fire in his deep lounging-chair with
a feeling of relief. The next moment, however, he was sensible of his
fatigue, and was conscious that he had quite a headache. What a fool he
had been to walk up through the snow! And those people had worried him!

His head throbbed. He had been working too hard of late. He would go and
see his doctor next day and talk it over with him. He could now take his
advice and stop working for a while; he was worth--Confound those
figures! Why could not he think of them without their popping in before
his eyes that way!

There was a footfall on the heavily carpeted floor behind him, so soft
that it could scarcely be said to have made a sound, but Livingstone
caught it. He spoke without turning his head.

"James!"

"Yes, sir. Have you dined, sir?"

"Dined? No, of course not! Where was I to dine?"

"I thought perhaps you had dined at the club. I will have dinner
directly, sir," said the butler quietly.

"Dine at the club! Why should I dine at the club? Haven't I my own house
to