yourself a man, and double it, and then (if you still wish to go to

Paris, which I know you won't) I'll let you go. But to let you run away

as if you were whipped, is what I am too proud to do."

My heart leaped at this proposal, and then sank again. It seemed easier

to paint a Meissonier on the spot than to win ten thousand dollars

on that mimic stock exchange. Nor could I help reflecting on the

singularity of such a test for a man's capacity to be a painter. I

ventured even to comment on this.

He sighed deeply. "You forget, my dear," said he, "I am a judge of

the one, and not of the other. You might have the genius of Bierstadt

himself, and I would be none the wiser."

"And then," I continued, "it's scarcely fair. The other boys are helped

by their people, who telegraph and give them pointers. There's Jim

Costello, who never budges without a word from his father in New York.

And then, don't you see, if anybody is to win, somebody must lose?"

"I'll keep you posted," cried my father, with unusual animation; "I did

not know it was allowed. I'll wire you in the office cipher, and we'll

make it a kind of partnership business, Loudon:--Dodd & Son, eh?" and

he patted my shoulder and repeated, "Dodd & Son, Dodd & Son," with the

kindliest amusement.

If my father was to give me pointers, and the commercial college was to

be a stepping-stone to Paris, I could look my future in the face. The

old boy, too, was so pleased at the idea of our association in this

foolery that he immediately plucked up spirit. Thus it befell that those

who had met at the depot like a pair of mutes, sat down to table with

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