Harry skipped into this society with his usual lightness and gaiety.  His good nature was inexhaustible, and though he liked to relate his own exploits, he had a little tact in adapting himself to the tastes of his hearers.  He was not long in finding out that Alice liked to hear about Philip, and Harry launched out into the career of his friend in the West, with a prodigality of invention that would have astonished the chief actor.  He was the most generous fellow in the world, and picturesque conversation was the one thing in which he never was bankrupt.  With Mr. Bolton he was the serious man of business, enjoying the confidence of many of the monied men in New York, whom Mr. Bolton knew, and engaged with them in railway schemes and government contracts.  Philip, who had so long known Harry, never could make up his mind that Harry did not himself believe that he was a chief actor in all these large operations of which he talked so much.

Harry did not neglect to endeavor to make himself agreeable to Mrs. Bolton, by paying great attention to the children, and by professing the warmest interest in the Friends’ faith.  It always seemed to him the most peaceful religion; he thought it must be much easier to live by an internal light than by a lot of outward rules; he had a dear Quaker aunt in Providence of whom Mrs. Bolton constantly reminded him.  He insisted upon going with Mrs. Bolton and the children to the Friends Meeting on First Day, when Ruth and Alice and Philip, “world’s people,” went to a church in town, and he sat through the hour of silence with his hat on, in most exemplary patience.  In short, this amazing actor succeeded so well with Mrs. Bolton, that she said to Philip one day,

“Thy friend, Henry Brierly, appears to be a very worldly minded young man.  Does he believe in anything?”

“Oh, yes,” said Philip laughing, “he believes in more things than any other person I ever saw.”

To Ruth, Harry seemed to be very congenial.  He was never moody for one thing, but lent himself with alacrity to whatever her fancy was.  He was gay or grave as the need might be.  No one apparently could enter more fully into her plans for an independent career.

“My father,” said Harry, “was bred a physician, and practiced a little before he went into Wall street.  I always had a leaning to the study.  There was a skeleton hanging in the closet of my father’s study when I was a boy, that I used to dress up in old clothes.  Oh, I got quite familiar with the human frame.”

“You must have,” said Philip.  “Was that where you learned to play the bones?  He is a master of those musical instruments, Ruth; he plays well enough to go on the stage.”

“Philip hates science of any kind, and steady application,” retorted Harry.  He didn’t fancy Philip’s banter, and when the latter had gone out, and Ruth asked,

“Why don’t you take up medicine, Mr. Brierly?”