y. Afterward she remembered that as a dear hurt, after all,
for in it she shared his pain.

While they were still stunned and silent under Silas Trimmer's parting
blow, the machine drew up at the curb in front of the building in
which Chalmers had his office. Chalmers, Bobby found, was a most
agreeable fellow, to whom he took an instant liking. It was strange
what different qualities the man seemed to possess than when Bobby had
first seen him in the company of Agnes. Their business there was very
brief. Chalmers held for Bobby, subject to Agnes' order as trustee,
the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in instantly
convertible securities, and when they left, Bobby had a check for that
amount comfortably tucked in his pocket.

There was another brief visit to the office of old Mr. Barrister,
where Agnes, again as Bobby's trustee, exhibited the papers Chalmers
had made out for her, showing that the funds previously left in her
charge had been duly paid over to Bobby as per the provisions of the
will, and thereupon filed her order for a similar amount. Barrister
received them with an "I told you so" air which amounted almost to
satisfaction. He was quite used to seeing the sons of rich men
hastening to become poor men, and he had so evidently classed Bobby as
one of the regular sort, that Bobby took quite justifiable umbrage and
decided that if he had any legal business whatever he would put it
into the hands of Chalmers.

He spent the rest of the day with Agnes and took dinner at the
Ellistons', where jolly Aunt Constance and shrewd Uncle Dan, in
genuine sympathy, desisted so palpably from their usual joking about
his "business career," that Bobby was more ill at ease than if they
had said all the grimly humorous things which popped into their minds.
For that reason he went home rather early, and tumbled into bed
resolving upon the new future he was to face to-morrow.

At least, he consoled himself with a sigh, he was now a man of
experience. He had learned something of the world. He was not further
to be hoodwinked. His last confused vision was of Silas Trimmer on his
knees begging for mercy, and the next thing he knew was that some one
was reminding him, with annoying insistency, of the early call he had
left.

The world looked brighter that morning, and he was quite hopeful when,
in the dim old study, seated at his father's desk and with the
portrait of stern old John Burnit frowning and yet shrewdly t