a large business. But I want him to get the business training, and
then if he wants to go into something else he knows what the world is,
anyway. Heigh?"

"Oh yes!" March assented, with some compassion for the young man
reddening patiently under his father's comment.

Dryfoos went on as if his son were not in hearing. "Now that boy wanted
to be a preacher. What does a preacher know about the world he preaches
against when he's been brought up a preacher? He don't know so much as a
bad little boy in his Sunday-school; he knows about as much as a girl. I
always told him, You be a man first, and then you be a preacher, if you
want to. Heigh?"

"Precisely." March began to feel some compassion for himself in being
witness of the young fellow's discomfort under his father's homily.

"When we first come to New York, I told him, Now here's your chance to
see the world on a big scale. You know already what work and saving and
steady habits and sense will bring a man, to; you don't want to go round
among the rich; you want to go among the poor, and see what laziness and
drink and dishonesty and foolishness will bring men to. And I guess he
knows, about as well as anybody; and if he ever goes to preaching he'll
know what he's preaching about." The old man smiled his fierce, simple
smile, and in his sharp eyes March fancied contempt of the ambition
he had balked in his son. The present scene must have been one of many
between them, ending in meek submission on the part of the young man,
whom his father, perhaps without realizing his cruelty, treated as
a child. March took it hard that he should be made to suffer in the
presence of a co-ordinate power like himself, and began to dislike the
old man out of proportion to his offence, which might have been mere
want of taste, or an effect of mere embarrassment before him. But
evidently, whatever rebellion his daughters had carried through against
him, he had kept his dominion over this gentle spirit unbroken. March
did not choose to make any response, but to let him continue, if he
would, entirely upon his own impulse.

II.

A silence followed, of rather painful length. It was broken by the
cheery voice of Fulkerson, sent before him to herald Fulkerson's cheery
person. "Well, I suppose you've got the glorious success of 'Every Other
Week' down pretty cold in your talk by this time. I should have been
up sooner to join you, but I was nipping a man for the last page of the
co