"What are they?" he inquired of the clerk, pride mingling with disgust
in his tone, as he caught a smell like unto the smell which might arise
from raw smoked salmon that had lain three days in the sun.

"Central American," responded the clerk, with brevity, and resumed his
whistling of

"My name is Jake Keyser, I was born in Spring Garden;
To make me a preacher my father did try."

"Central American _what_?" pursued the inquirer.

"_Rubber!_" said the clerk, with a scorn so deep and far beyond
expression that the combined pride of the Dolphs and the Des Anges
wilted into silence for the moment. As they went on toward the rear
office, while the clerk gayly whistled the notes of

"It's no use a-blowing, for I am a hard 'un--
I'm bound to be a butcher, by heavens, or die!"

Eustace recovered sufficiently to demand of his father:

"I say, sir, shall I have to handle that damned stuff?"

"Hush!" said his senior; "here's Mr. Van Riper."

Mr. Van Riper came to the office door to welcome them, with his thin
face set in the form of a smile.

"Ah!" he said, "here's the young man, is he? Fine big fellow, Dolph.
Well, sir, so you are going to embrace a mercantile career, are you?
That's what they call it in these fine days, Dolph."

"I am going to try to, sir," replied the young man.

"He will, Van Riper," put in his father, hastily; "he'll like it as soon
as he gets used to it--I know he will."

"Well," returned Mr. Van Riper, with an attempt at facetious geniality,
"we'll try to get his nose down to the grindstone, we will. Come into my
office with me, Dolph, and I'll hand this young gentleman over to old
Mr. Daw. Mr. Daw will feel his teeth--eh, Mr. Daw?--see what he
_doesn't_ know--how's that, Mr. Daw? You remember Mr. Daw, Dolph--used
to be with your father before he went out of business--been with us ever
since. Let's see, how long is that, Daw? Most fifty years, ain't it?"

[Illustration: "Looks like his father," was Mr. Daw's comment.]

Mr. Daw, who looked as though he might have been one hundred years at
the business, wheeled around and descended with stiff deliberation from
his high stool, holding his pen in his mouth as he solemnly shook hands
with Jacob Dolph, and peered into his face. Then he took the pen out of
his mouth.

"Looks like his father," was Mr. Daw's comment. "Forty-five years the
twenty-ninth of this month, sir. You was a little shaver then. I
remember you comin' into