Poor old Mr. Bowdoin had had a hangdog feeling with old Jamie ever since that day his son had laughed. He had dared criticise nothing he noticed at the office, and Jamie grew more crusty and eccentric every day. James Bowdoin was less indulgent, and soon saw that something new was in the wind. But the last thing that both expected was a demand on Jamie's part for an increased salary. Jamie made it respectfully, with his hat off, twirling in his hand, and the Bowdoins eyed him.
"It isna that I'm discontented with the place or the salary in the past," said Jamie, "but our expenses are increasing. I have rented a house in Worcester Square."
"In Worcester Square? And the one in Salem Street?"
"’Tis too small for me family needs," said Jamie. "I have sold it."
"Too small?"
"Me daughter is about to be married," said Jamie reluctantly.
"Dear me!" exclaimed the Bowdoins in a breath. "May we congratulate her?"
"Ye may do as ye like," said Jamie. "’Tis one Mr. David St. Clair,—a gentleman, as he tells me."
