said, coldly.

The next second he knew he had made an error. A shocked expression came
involuntarily over the other's face.

"Oh! it was not that!--It was--" He paused, reflected half a second.
"I'll be there," he added, and, turning quickly, withdrew, leaving
Livingstone feeling very blank and then, somewhat angry. He was angry
with himself for making such a blunder, and then angrier with the clerk
for leading him into it.

"That is the way with such people!" he reflected. "What is the use of
being considerate and generous? No one appreciates it!"

The more he thought of it, the warmer he became. "Had he not taken Clark
up ten--fifteen years ago, when he had not a cent in the world, and now
he was getting fifteen hundred dollars a year--yes, sixteen hundred,
and almost owned his house; and he had made every cent for him!"

At length, Livingstone's sense of injury became so strong, he could
stand it no longer. He determined to have a talk with Clark.

He opened the door and walked into the outer office. One of the younger
clerks was just buttoning up his overcoat. Livingstone detected a scowl
on his face. The sight did not improve Livingstone's temper. He would
have liked to discharge the boy on the spot. How often had he ever
called on them to wait? He knew men who required their clerks to wait
always until they themselves left the office, no matter what the hour
was. He himself would not do this; he regarded it as selfish. But now
when it had happened by accident, this was the return he received!

He contented himself with asking somewhat sharply where Mr. Clark was.

"Believe he's gone to the telephone," said the clerk, sulkily. He
picked up his hat and said good-night hurriedly. He was evidently glad
to get off.

Livingstone returned to his own room; but left the door ajar so that he
could see Clark when he returned. When, however, a few moments
afterwards Clark appeared Livingstone had cooled down. Why should he
expect gratitude? He did not pay Clark for gratitude, but for work, and
this the clerk did faithfully. It was an ungrateful world, anyhow.

At that moment there was a light knock at the outer door, and, on
Clark's bidding, some one entered.

Livingstone, from where he sat, could see the door reflected in a mirror
that hung in his office.

The visitor was a little girl. She was clad in a red jacket, and on her
head was a red cap, from under which her hair pushed in a profusion of
ringlets. Her