CHAPTER VI.

WHEREIN THE INVESTMENT IS DISCUSSED.

It was the evening of a long day in summer.  Mrs. Monroe had rolled up her sewing and was waiting for her son.  Tea was ready in the pleasant east room, and the air of the house seemed to invite tranquillity and repose.  It was in a quiet street, away from the rattle of carriages, and comparatively free from the multitudinous noises of a city.  The carts of milkmen and marketmen were the only vehicles that frequented it.  The narrow yard in the rear, with its fringe of grass, and the proximity to the pavement in front, were the only things that would have prevented one from thinking himself a dweller in the country.  As the clock struck six, Walter Monroe’s step was heard at the door;—­other men might be delayed; he never.  No seductions of billiards or pleasant company ever kept him from the society of his mother.  He had varied sources of amusement, and many friends, attracted by his genial temper and tried worth; but he never forgot that his mother denied herself all intercourse with society, and was indifferent to every pleasure out of the sphere of home.  Nor did he meet her as a matter of course; mindful of his mother’s absorbing love, and heartily returning it, he seemed always, upon entering the room, to have come home as from a long absence.  He kissed her fondly, asked concerning her health and spirits, and how she had passed the day.

“The day is always long till you come, Walter.  Tea is ready now, my son.  When you are rested, we will sit down.”

“Ah, mother, you are cheerful to-day.  I have brought you, besides the papers, a new book, which we will commence presently.”

“A thoughtful boy you are; but you haven’t told me all, Walter.  I see something behind those eyes of yours.”

“What telltales they must be!  Well, I have a pretty present for you,—­a sweet picture I bought the other day, and which will come home to-morrow, I fancy.”

“Is that all?  I shall be glad to see the picture, because you like it.  But you have something else on your mind.”

“I see I never keep anything from you, mother.  You seem to know my thoughts.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I have been thinking, mother, that our little property was hardly so productive as it ought to be,—­earning barely six per cent., while I know that many of my friends are getting eight, and even ten.”

“I am afraid that the extra interest is only to pay for the risk of losing all.”

“True, that is often the case; but I think we can make all safe.”

“Well, what do you propose doing?”

“I have left it with Mr. Sandford, an acquaintance of mine, to invest for me.  He is secretary of an insurance company, and knows all the ways of the money-lending world.”

“It’s a great risk, Walter, to trust our all.”

“Not our all, mother.  I have a salary, and, whatever may happen, we can always depend on that.  Besides, Mr. Sandford is a man of integrity and credit.  He has the unlimited confidence of the company, and I rely upon him as I would upon myself.”