indistinct proposition. He was weak, but he was not too weak to perceive that he had formed a calculation which was now vitiated by a wrong factor—put his name to a contract of which the other side had not been carried out. More than fifty years of conscious success pressed him to try to understand; he had never muddled his affairs and he couldn't muddle them now. At the same time he was aware of the necessity of economizing his effort, and he evidently gathered himself, within, patiently and almost cunningly, for the right question and the right induction. He was still able to make his agitation reflective, and it could still consort with his high hopes of Nick that he should find himself regarding the declaration that everything would be all right as an inadequate guarantee. So, after he had looked a moment into his companion's eyes, he inquired:
"Have you done anything bad?"
"Nothing worse than usual," laughed Nick.
"Everything should have been better than usual."
"Ah, well, it hasn't been that—that I must say."
"Do you sometimes think of your father?" Mr. Carteret continued.
Nick hesitated a moment. "You make me think of him—you have always that pleasant effect."
"His name would have lived—it mustn't be lost."
"Yes, but the competition to-day is terrible," Nick replied.
Mr. Carteret considered this a moment, as if he found a serious flaw in it; after which he began again: "I never supposed you were a trifler."
"I'm determined not to be."
