the hand of Flora, had been solaced in the favor of one whose social standing and money-value was regarded as considerably above that of the maiden who had declined the offer of his hand.  He saw Flora given to another without a feeling of regret.  A few months afterwards, he married the daughter of a gentleman who considered himself fortunate in obtaining a son-in-law that promised to be one of the richest men in the city.

It was with a very poor grace that Mr. Johnson bore his disappointment; so poor, that he scarcely treated the husband of his daughter with becoming respect.  To add to his uncomfortable feelings by contrast, Mortimer built himself a splendid dwelling almost beside the modest residence of Mr. Watson, and after furnishing it in the most costly and elegant style, gave a grand entertainment.  Invitations to this were not extended to either Mr. Johnson’s family or to that of his son-in-law—­an omission that was particularly galling to the former.

A few weeks subsequent to this, Mr. Johnson stood beside Mr. Watson in an auction room.  To the latter a sample of new goods, just introduced, was knocked down, and when asked by the auctioneer how many cases he would take, he replied “Two.”

“Say ten,” whispered Mr. Johnson in his ear.

“Two cases are enough for my sales,” quietly returned the young man.

“But they’re a great bargain.  You can sell them at an advance,” urged Mr. Johnson.

“Perhaps so.  But I’d rather not go out of my regular line of business.”

By this time, the auctioneer’s repeated question of “Who’ll take another case?” had been responded to by half a dozen voices, and the lot of goods was gone.

“You’re too prudent,” said Mr. Johnson, with some impatience in his manner.

“No,” replied the young man, with his usual calm tone and quiet smile.  “Slow and sure—­that is my motto.  I only buy the quantity of an article that I am pretty sure will sell.  Then I get a certain profit, and am not troubled with paying for goods that are lying on my shelves and depreciating in value daily.”

“But these wouldn’t have lain on your shelves.  You could have sold them at a quarter of a cent advance to-morrow, and thus cleared sixty or seventy dollars.”

“That is mere speculation.”

“Call it what you will; it makes no difference.  The chance of making a good operation was before you, and you did not improve it.  You will never get along at your snail’s pace.”

There was, in the voice of Mr. Johnson, a tone of contempt that stung Watson more than any previous remark or, action of his father-in-law.  Thrown, for a moment, off his guard, he replied with some warmth—­

“You may be sure of one thing, at least.”

“What?”

“That I shall never embarrass you with any of my fine operations.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Mr. Johnson.

“Time will explain the remark,” replied Watson, turning away, and retiring from the auction room.