"But how did you come to know him?" asked Mr. James.
"Why, I see him once a year or so. Don't you send him occasionally to New York?"
"He used to go, some years ago," said Mr. Bowdoin.
"He buys his Spanish gold of us," added the New Yorker. "Queer fancy you have of buying up doubloons. Gold is gold, though, in these times."
"Spanish doubloons?" said Mr. James.
"We have a use for them at the bank," remarked the old gentleman sharply. "Shall we join the ladies?"
"You have to pay a pretty premium for them," added the money-dealer, as he stopped to wipe his lips. "Wonderful madeira, this."
Old Mr. Bowdoin took no squeaking toy to bed with him that night; but at breakfast his worthy spouse vowed he must take another room if he would be so wakeful. For once the old gentleman had no repartee, but hurried down to the bank. Early as he was, he found his son James there before him. And with all his soul he seized upon the chance to lose his temper.
