“Perhaps your ideas of respectability,” continued the squire, “are not in accordance with mine.”

“Ay, ay; true, true,” interrupted Sandy, with a shrug of the shoulder.

Mr. Smith continued his remarks, appearing not to notice the interruption.  “Perhaps,” said he, “one may be as honest as the days are long; but, sir, he is far from being respectable, in my humble opinion, if he is not genteel,—­and certainly if he is not fashionably dressed he is not.  He does not think enough of himself; that’s it, my dear Mr. Short, he does not think enough of himself.”

“But he is honest,” replied Mr. Short.  “Supposing he does not dress so fashionably as you would wish, would you condemn him for the cut of his coat, or the quality of his cloth?  Perhaps his means are not very extensive, and will not admit of a very expensive outlay, merely for show.  It is much better, my dear sir, to be clothed in rags and out of debt, than to be attired in the most costly apparel, and that not paid for.  Sir, to hold up your head and say you owe no man, is to be free, free in the truest sense of the word.”

“Ah, I must be on the move,” interrupted the squire, at the same time looking at his “gold lever.”  And off he started.

Squire Smith had said enough for that night; to have said more would have injured his plan.  Mr. Green and Sandy shook hands with their friend Robert, and, it being late, they bade him “good-by,” and parted.  Our hero was now left alone.  Snuffing the candle, that had well-nigh burnt to the socket, he placed more fuel upon the fire, and, resting his hands upon his knees and his head upon his hands, he began to think over the sayings of his friend the squire.

Robert Short saw nothing of the squire for many days after the event just described transpired.  One day, as he began his work, the door was suddenly thrown open, and the long absent but not forgotten squire rushed in, shouting “Speculation! speculation!” Mr. Short threw aside his last, and listened with feelings of astonishment to the eloquent words that fell from the lips of his unexpected visitor.  “Gull, the broker,” continued the squire, “has just offered me a great bargain.  I have come to make a proposition which is, that you and I accept his offer, and make our fortunes.”

“Fortunes!” exclaimed the son of Crispin; “speculate in what?”

“In eastern land,” was the reply.

Bob Short’s countenance assumed a desponding appearance; he had heard of many losses caused by venturing in these speculations, and had some doubts as to his success, should he accept.  Then, again, he had heard of those who had been fortunate, and he inquired the conditions of sale.

“Why,” replied Mr. Smith, Esq., “old Varnum Gull has three thousand acres of good land, upon which are, as he assures me, some beautiful watering places.  It is worth five dollars an acre; he offers it to me for one, and a grand chance it is; the terms are cash.”