remember," said Mr. Whedell.

Mr. Chiffield bowed his gracious acknowledgment of the handsome
historical allusion.

"How is Erie, Mr. Chiffield?"

"Looking up."

"Sure of it?"

"A leading Wall-street man told me, this afternoon, it would advance
three per cent. this week. I have a slight interest in watching it,"
said Mr. Chiffield, smiling.

"So have I," said Mr. Whedell, smiling also.

Daring their conversation, and the remainder of their financial
dialogue, Mr. Whedell kept one ear, and occasionally one eye, inclined
toward his daughter and the favored Maltboy. If there was a hint
conveyed in those side glances at his daughter, she either did not
notice it, or did not choose to take it. Sometimes Mr. Chiffield looked
in the same direction, but casually, as it were, and without one sign of
impatience visible in the depths of his calm brown eyes. Mr. Chiffield
was not a nervous man.

Matthew Maltboy was so perfectly free from selfishness at this moment,
that he would cheerfully have spared a few words from Miss Whedell's
delightful monologue for the gratification of his late rival ("late" was
now decidedly the word, in Maltboy's opinion) over the way. In the
exercise of his large charity and compassion, he pitied that
unfortunate, sadly disappointed dealer in dry goods.

This pity, as Matthew used to say in after days, was thrown away. At the
end of a brilliant description of a new set of quadrilles which Miss
Whedell had danced at a sociable the night before, that young lady said,
"Excuse me," and crossed the room to a what-not in the corner, and
searched for something among a pile of magazines and pictures. The
thought that she was making efforts to please him, tickled Matthew's
vanity. While she was overhauling the pile, Mr. Whedell left his seat by
Chiffield, and took the one just vacated by his daughter. Matthew
received him with the diplomatic courtesy due to the parent of one's
enchantress, and made a well-meant if not novel remark on the state of
the weather. Mr. Whedell mildly disputed his proposition (whatever it
was)--for Mr. W. was always disputatious on that subject--and then
passed to the consideration of national politics. "The one topic
natually suggests the other," said Mr. Whedell, "for they are equally
variable." This was one of the father's few standard jokes; and Maltboy
always laughed at it with the heartiness of a future son-in-law. They
then grappled with the great theme in earnest.