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mortgages on a young man's soul that few young fellows ever pay off.
Now there was neither curly head nor music in all the Barclay tribe,
and when John sang "Through the trees the night winds murmur, murmur
low and sweet," his mother could shut her eyes and hear Uncle Leander,
the black sheep of three generations of Thatchers. So that the fact
that John had something over a thousand dollars to put in General
Hendricks' bank, and owned half a dozen town lots in the various
additions to the town, made the mother thankful for the Grandfather
Barclay's blood in him. But she saw a soul growing into the boy's face
that frightened her. What others admired as strength she feared, for
she knew it was ruthlessness. What others called shrewdness she,
remembering his Grandfather Barclay, knew might grow into blind, cruel
greed, and when she thought of his voice and his curly hair, and
recalled Uncle Leander, the curly-headed, singing ne'er-do-well of her
family, and then in the boy's hardening mouth and his canine jaw saw
Grandfather Barclay sneering at her, she was uncertain which blood she
feared most. So she managed it that John should go into partnership
with General Ward, and Bob Hendricks managed it that the firm should
have offices over the bank, and also that the firm was made attorneys
for the bank,--the highest mark of distinction that may come to a law
firm in a country town. The general realized it and was proud. But he
thought the young man took it too much as a matter of course.

"John," said the general, one day, as they were dividing their first
five-hundred-dollar fee, "you're a lucky dog. Everything comes so
easily with you. Let me tell you something; I've figured this out: if
you don't give it back some way--give it back to the world, or
society, or your fellows,--or God, if you like to bunch your good
luck under one head,--you're surely going to suffer for it. There is
no come-easy-go-easy in this world. I've learned that much of the
scheme of things."

"You mean that I've got to pay as I go, or Providence will keep books
on me and foreclose?" asked John, as he stood patting the roll of
bills in his trousers pocket.

"That's the idea, son," smiled the elder man.

The younger man put his hand to his chin and grinned. "I suppose," he
replied, "that's why so many men keep the title to their religious
proclivities in their wife's name." He went out gayly, and the elder
man heard the boyish limp almost trippin