her inheritance from a grandfather, and there build a cabin and live in
it with me; and that while I shot prairie chickens for dinner she would

have milked the cow which some member of the family would have been
willing to give us as a wedding present instead of a statue of the Winged

Victory, or silver spoons and forks, had we so desired."
Richard made a pause here, and looked at his wife as if he expected her

to correct him. But Ethel was plainly satisfied with his statement, and
he therefore continued.

"I think it is ideal when a girl is ready to do so much as that for a
man. But I should not think it ideal in a man to allow the girl he loved

to do it for him. Nor did I then know anything about the lands in
Michigan--though this would have made no difference. Ethel had been

accustomed to a house several stories high, with hot and cold water in
most of them, and somebody to answer the door-bell."

"The door-bell!" exclaimed Ethel. "I could have gone without hearing
that."

"Yes, Ethel, only to hear the welkin ring would have been enough for you.
I know that you are sincere in thinking so. And the ringing welkin is all

we should have heard in Michigan. But the more truly a man loves a girl,
the less can he bear taking her from an easy to a hard life. I am sure

that all the men here agree with me."
There was a murmur and a nod from the men, and also from Mrs. Davenport.

But the other ladies gave no sign of assenting to Richard's proposition.
"In those days," said he, "I was what in the curt parlance of the street

is termed a six-hundred-dollar clerk. And though my ears had grown
accustomed to this appellation, I never came to feel that it completely

described me. In passing Tiffany's window twice each day (for my habit
was to walk to and from Nassau Street) I remember that seeing a

thousand-dollar clock exposed for sale caused me annoyance. Of course my
salary as a clerk brought me into no unfavourable comparison with the

clock; and I doubt if I could make you understand my sometimes feeling
when I passed Tiffany's window that I should like to smash the clock."

"I met Ethel frequently in society, dancing with her, and sitting next
her at dinners. And by the time I had dined at her own house, and walked

several afternoons with her, my lot as a six-hundred-dollar clerk began
to seem very sad to me. I wrote verses about it, and about other subjects

also. From an evening passed with Ethel, I would go next morning to the
office and look at the other clerks. One of them was fifty-five, and he

still received six hundred dollars--his wages for the last thirty years. I
was then twenty-one; and though I never despaired to the extent of

believing that years would fail to increase my value to the firm by a
single cent, still, for what could I hope? If my salary were there and

then to be doubled, what kind of support was twelve hundred dollars to
offer Ethel, with her dresses, and her dinners, and her father's

carriage? For two years I was wretchedly unhappy beneath the many hours
of gaiety that came to me, as to every young man."

"Those two years we could have been in Michigan," said Ethel, "had you
understood."

"I know. But understanding, I believe that I should do the same again. At
the office, when not busy, I wrote more poetry, and began also to write

prose, which I found at the outset less easy. When my first writings were
accepted (they were four sets of verses upon the Summer Resort) I felt

that I could soon address Ethel; for I had made ten dollars outside my
salary. Had she not been in Europe that July, I believe that I should

have spoken to her at once. But I sent her the paper; and I have the
letter that she wrote in reply."

"I"--began Ethel. But she stopped.
"Yes, I know now that you kept the verses," said Richard. "My next

manuscript, however, was rejected. Indeed, I went on offering my literary
productions nearly every week until the following January before a second

acceptance came. It was twenty five dollars this time, and almost made me
feel again that I could handsomely support Ethel. But not quite. After

the first charming elation at earning money with my pen, those weeks of
refusal had caused me to think more soberly. And though I was now bent

upon becoming an author and leaving Nassau Street, I burned no bridges
behind me, but merely filled my spare hours with writing and with showing

it to Ethel."
"It was now that the second area of perturbation of my life came to me. I

say the second, because the first had been the recent dawning belief that
Ethel thought about me when I was not there to remind her of myself. This

idea had stirred --but you will understand. And now, what was my proper,
my honourable course? It was a positiverelief that at this crisis she

went to Florida. I could think more quietly. My writing had come to be
quite often accepted, sometimes even solicited. Should I speak to her,

and ask her to wait until I could put a decent roof over her head, or
should I keep away from her until I could offer such a roof? Her father,

I supposed, could do something for us. But I was not willing to be a
pensioner. His business--were he generous--would be to provide cake and

butter; but the bread was to be mine and bread was still a long way off,
according to New York standards. These things I thought over while she

was in Florida; yet when once I should I find myself with her again, I
began to fear that I could not hold myself from--but these are

circumstances which universal knowledge renders it needless to mention,
and I will pass to the second perturbation."

"A sum of money was suddenly left me. Then for the first time I understood
why I had during my boyhood been so periodically sent to see a cross old

brother of my mother's, who lived near Cold Spring on the Hudson, and
whom we called Uncle Snaggletooth when no one could hear us. Uncle

Godfrey (for I have called him by his right name ever since) died and left
me what in those old days six years ago was still a large amount. To-day

we understand what true riches mean. But in those bygone times six years
ago, a million dollars was a sum considerable enough to be still seen, as

it were, with the naked eye. That was my bequest from Uncle Godfrey, and
I felt myself to be the possessor of a fortune."

At this point in Richard's narrative, a sigh escaped from Ethel.
"I know," he immediately said, "that money is always welcome. But it is

certainly some consolation to reflect how slight a loss a million dollars
is counted to-day in New York. And I did not lose all of it."

"I met Ethel at the train on her return from Florida, and crossed with
her on the ferry from Jersey City to Desbrosses Street. There I was

obliged to see her drive away in the carriage with her father."
"Mr. Field," said Mrs. Davenport, "what hour did that train arrive at

Jersey City?"
Richard looked surprised. "Why, seven-fifteen P. M.," he replied. "The

tenth of March."
"Dark!" Mrs. Davenport exclaimed. "Mr. Field, you and Ethel were engaged

before the ferry boat landed at Desbrosses Street."
Richard and Ethel both sat straight up, but remained speechless.

"Pardon my interruption," said Mrs. Davenport, smiling. "I didn't want to
miss a single point in this story--do go on!"

Richard was obliged to burst out laughing, in which Ethel, after a
moment, followed him, though perhaps less heartily. And as he continued,

his blush subsided.
"With my Uncle Godfrey's legacy I was no longer dependent upon my salary,

or my pen, or my father's purse; and I decided that with the money
properly invested, I could maintain a modestestablishment of my own.

Ethel agreed with me entirely; and, after a little, we disclosed our
plans to our families, and they met with approval. This was in April, and

we thought of October or November for the wedding. It seemed long to
wait; but it came near being so much longer, that I grow chilly now to

think of it."
"Of course, I went steadily on with my work at the office in Nassau

Street, nor did I neglect my writing entirely. My attention, however, was
now turned to the question of investing my fortune. Just round the corner

from our office was the firm of Blake and Beverly, Stocks and Bonds.
Thither my steps began frequently to turn. Mr. Beverly had business which

brought him every week to the room of our president; and so having a sort
of acquaintance with him, I felt it easier to consult him than to seek

any other among the brokers, to which class I was a well nigh total