l you I get a comfortable conscience by an easy system
of commutation. Here, exchange with me; this is for double the amount,
and I am glad you mentioned it."

"But I want more than that this time," and Vail fixed his eyes on
Charley in a way that made the latter feel just a little ill at ease, a
sensation very new to him.

"Well, how much, Harry? Don't be afraid to ask. I told you you should
have half my kingdom, old fellow!" And Vanderhuyn took his pen and
began to date another check.

"But, Charley, I am almost afraid to ask. I want more than half you
have--I want something worth more than all you have."

"Why, you make me curious. Never saw you in that vein before, Vail,"
and Charley twisted a piece of paper, lighted it in the gas jet, and
held it gracefully in his fingers while he set his cigar going, hoping
to hide his restlessness under the wistful gaze of his friend by this
occupation of his attention.

But however nervous Henry Vail might be in the performance of little
acts that were mere matters of convention, there was no lack of quiet
self-possession in matters that called out his earnestness of spirit.
And now he sat gazing steadily at Charley until the cigar had been
gracefully lighted, the bit of paper tossed on the grate, and until
Charley had watched his cigar a moment. When the latter reluctantly
brought his eyes back into range with the dead-earnest ones that had
never ceased to look on him with that strange wistful expression, then
Henry Vail proceeded:

"I want _you_, Charley."

Charley laughed heartily now. "Me? What a missionary _I_ would make!
Kid-glove gospeller I'd be called in the first three days. What a
superb Sunday-school teacher I'd make! Why, Henry Vail, you know
better. There's just one thing in this world I have a talent for, and
that's society. I'm a man of the world in my very fiber. But as for
following in your illustrious footsteps--I wish I could be so good a
man, but you see I'm not built in that way. I'm a man of the world."

"That's just what I want," said Henry Vail, looking with the same
tender wistfulness into his friend's eyes. "If I'd wanted a missionary
I shouldn't have come to you. If I'd wanted a Sunday-school teacher I
could have found twenty better; and as for tract distributing and Bible
reading, you couldn't do either if you'd try. What I want for
Huckleberry Street more than I want anything else is a man of the
world. You are a man of the world--of the w