But though these and many more like them were said to have made in a year or two more than Livingstone with all his pains had been able to accumulate in a score of years of earnest toil and assiduous devotion to business; were now invited to the same big houses that Livingstone visited, and were greeted by almost as flattering speeches as Livingstone received, Livingstone knew of discussions as to these men at Boards other than the “festal board,” and of “stiffer” notes that had been sent them than those stiff and sealed missives which were left at their front doors by liveried footmen.

Livingstone, however, though he “kept out of the papers,” having a rooted and growing prejudice against this form of vulgarity, could at any time, on five minutes’ notice, establish the solidity of his foundation by simply unlocking his safe-deposit boxes.  His foundation was as solid as gold.

On the mahogany table-desk before him lay now a couple of books:  one a long, ledger-like folio in the russet covering sacred to the binding of that particular kind of work which a summer-hearted Writer of books years ago inscribed as “a book of great interest;” the other, a smaller volume, a memorandum book, more richly attired than its sober companion, in Russia leather.

For an hour or two Mr. Livingstone, with closely-drawn, thin lips, and eager eyes, had sat in his seat, silent, immersed, absorbed, and compared the two volumes, from time to time making memoranda in the smaller book, whilst his clerks had sat on their high stools in the large office outside looking impatiently at the white-faced clock on the wall as it slowly marked the passing time, or gazing enviously and grumblingly out of the windows at the dark, hurrying crowds below making their way homeward through the falling snow.

The young men could not have stood it but for the imperturbable patience and sweet temper of the oldest man in the office, a quiet-faced, middle-aged man, who, in a low, cheery, pleasant voice, restrained their impatience and soothed their ruffled spirits.

Even this, however, was only partially successful.

“Go in there, Mr. Clark, and tell him we want to go home,” urged fretfully one youth, a tentative dandy, with a sharp nose and blunt chin, who had been diligently arranging his vivid necktie for more than a half-hour at a little mirror on the wall.

“Oh!  He’ll be out directly now,” replied the older man, looking up from the account-book before him.

“You’ve been saying that for three hours!” complained the other.

“Well, see if it doesn’t come true this time,” said the older clerk, kindly.  “He’ll make it up to you.”

This view of the case did not seem to appeal very strongly to the young man; he simply grunted.

“I’m going to give him notice.  I’ll not be put upon this way—­” bristled a yet younger clerk, stepping down from his high stool in a corner and squaring his shoulders with martial manifestations.