But Eliphalet was content still to remain in the sphere in which Providence had placed him, and so to be an example for many of us.  He did not buy, or even hire, an evening suit.  He was pleased to superintend some of the details for a dance at Christmas-time before Virginia left Monticello, but he sat as usual on the stair-landing.  There Mr. Jacob Cluyme (who had been that day in conversation with the teller of the Boatman’s Bank) chanced upon him.  Mr. Cluyme was so charmed at the facility with which Eliphalet recounted the rise and fall of sugar and cotton and wheat that he invited Mr. Hopper to dinner.  And from this meal may be reckoned the first appearance of the family of which Eliphalet Hopper was the head into polite society.  If the Cluyme household was not polite, it was nothing.  Eliphalet sat next to Miss Belle, and heard the private history of many old families, which he cherished for future use.  Mrs. Cluyme apologized for the dinner, which (if the truth were told) needed an apology.  All of which is significant, but sordid and uninteresting.  Jacob Cluyme usually bought stocks before a rise.

There was only one person who really bothered Eliphalet as he rose into prominence, and that person was Captain Elijah Brent.  If, upon entering the ground-glass office, he found Eliphalet without the Colonel, Captain Lige would walk out again just as if the office were empty.  The inquiries he made were addressed always to Ephum.  Once, when Mr. Hopper had bidden him good morning and pushed a chair toward him, the honest Captain had turned his back and marched straight to the house or Tenth Street, where he found the Colonel alone at breakfast.  The Captain sat down opposite.

“Colonel,” said he, without an introduction.  “I don’t like this here business of letting Hopper run your store.  He’s a fish, I tell you.”

The Colonel drank his coffee in silence.

“Lige,” he said gently, “he’s nearly doubled my income.  It isn’t the old times, when we all went our own way and kept our old customers year in and year out.  You know that.”

The Captain took a deep draught of the coffee which Jackson had laid before him.

“Colonel Carvel,” he said emphatically, “the fellow’s a damned rascal, and will ruin you yet if you don’t take advice.”

The Colonel shifted uneasily.

“The books show that he’s honest, Lige.”

“Yes,” cried Lige, with his fist on the table.  “Honest to a mill.  But if that fellow ever gets on top of you, or any one else, he’ll grind you into dust.”

“He isn’t likely to get on top of me, Lige.  I know the business, and keep watch.  And now that Jinny’s coming home from Monticello, I feel that I can pay more attention to her—­kind of take her mother’s place,” said the Colonel, putting on his felt hat and tipping his chair.  “Lige, I want that girl to have every advantage.  She ought to go to Europe and see the world.  That trip East last summer did her a heap of good.  When we were at Calvert House, Dan read her something that my grandfather had written about London, and she was regularly fired.  First I must take her to the Eastern Shore to see Carvel Hall.  Dan still owns it.  Now it’s London and Paris.”