unhappy--unhappy in his business, in his pleasures, in his place of

residence, and (I am sorry to say it) in his son. He had begun life as a

land-surveyor, soon became interested in real estate, branched off into

many other speculations, and had the name of one of the smartest men in

the State of Muskegon. "Dodd has a big head," people used to say; but I

was never so sure of his capacity. His luck, at least, was beyond doubt

for long; his assiduity, always. He fought in that daily battle of

money-grubbing, with a kind of sad-eyed loyalty like a martyr's; rose

early, ate fast, came home dispirited and over-weary, even from success;

grudged himself all pleasure, if his nature was capable of taking any,

which I sometimes wondered; and laid out, upon some deal in wheat or

corner in aluminium, the essence of which was little better than highway

robbery, treasures of conscientiousness and self-denial.

Unluckily, I never cared a cent for anything but art, and never shall.

My idea of man's chief end was to enrich the world with things of

beauty, and have a fairly good time myself while doing so. I do not

think I mentioned that second part, which is the only one I have managed

to carry out; but my father must have suspected the suppression, for he

branded the whole affair as self-indulgence.

"Well," I remember crying once, "and what is your life? You are only

trying to get money, and to get it from other people at that."

He sighed bitterly (which was very much his habit), and shook his poor

head at me. "Ah, Loudon, Loudon!" said he, "you boys think yourselves

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