ther's disapproval
for both of these forms of imprudence; but is was never expressed in a
harsh or violent way, always with a certain tolerant patience, such as
one might show for the mistakes and vagaries of the very young. John
Weightman was not hasty, impulsive, inconsiderate, even toward his own
children. With them, as with the rest of the world, he felt that he
had a reputation to maintain, a theory to vindicate. He could afford
to give them time to see that he was absolutely right.

One of his favorite Scripture quotations was, "Wait on the Lord."

He had applied it to real estate and to people, with profitable results.

But to human persons the sensation of being waited for is not always
agreeable. Sometimes, especially with the young, it produces a vague
restlessness, a dumb resentment, which is increased by the fact that
one can hardly explain or justify it. Of this John Weightman was not
conscious. It lay beyond his horizon. He did not take it into account
in the plan of life which he made for himself and for his family as the
sharers and inheritors of his success.

"Father plays us," said Harold, in a moment of irritation, to his
mother, "like pieces in a game of chess.

"My dear," said that lady, whose faith in her husband was religious,
"you ought not to speak so impatiently. At least he wins the game. He
is one of the most respected men in New York. And he is very generous,
too."

"I wish he would be more generous in letting us be ourselves," said the
young man. "He always has something in view for us and expects to move
us up to it."

"But isn't it always for our benefit?" replied his mother. "Look what
a position we have. No one can say there is any taint on our money.
There are no rumors about your father. He has kept the laws of God and
of man. He has never made any mistakes." Harold got up from his chair
and poked the fire. Then he came back to the ample, well-gowned,
firm-looking lady, and sat beside her on the sofa. He took her hand
gently and looked at the two rings--a thin band of yellow gold, and a
small solitaire diamond--which kept their place on her third finger in
modest dignity, as if not shamed, but rather justified, by the splendor
of the emerald which glittered beside them.

"Mother," he said, "you have a wonderful hand. And father made no
mistake when he won you. But are you sure he has always been so
inerrant?"

"Harold," she exclaimed, a little stiffly, "w