Now, Charley was not a drinking man, his uncle felt sure. He knew,
indeed, that when he first grew to manhood he had vowed never to touch
rum in any form.

The dinner at Charley's was better, if possible, than the breakfast.
It was a real treat to the old bachelor, whose life was spent in a
boarding-house, to partake of such good, healthy fare as Nellie gave
him. But always he felt like partaking of it under protest.
Nellie--little, weary, tired Nellie--ever filled his mind and heart.
At dinner Charley brought forth his _ale_, declaring it to be "the
very best in town." And after dinner his cigars, "none finer to be
found," he said.

Now, Uncle Hiram could partake of both without serious disadvantage
either to his health or purse. But caring very little for either, he
seldom used them. During the evening several gentlemen friends came in
to call on Charley's uncle, and again ale and cigars were put out.

Uncle Hiram went to calculating. Ale, fifty cents, at least, that day;
sometimes less, sometimes more. Make the average half as
much--twenty-five cents. Cigars always as much; frequently, as _that_
day, treble the amount. In a month it would sum up, to the very
lowest, fifteen dollars. And who could tell how much more? What would
not that money, worse than lost, have secured for Charley's wife and
children?

Rest, health, peace and length of days, most likely.

Now, Uncle Hiram knew well enough how it was Charley did not have
things beautiful without and around his premises, and why Nellie's