ago, when my trade was better than it is now. Yes, you gave me five
pounds--or was it five pounds ten?--for this very work. And it is
worth twelve pounds now--I assure you it is worth twelve pounds, if it
is worth a penny."

"Will you give me ten pounds for it, then?" cried the other eagerly;
"I want the money badly."

"No, I can't; but I will send you to a man who can and will. I do not
speculate now; I never go to auctions. I am old, you see. Besides, I
am poor. I will not buy your book, but I will send you to a man who
will give you ten pounds for it, I am sure, and then he will sell it
for fifteen." He wrote the address on a slip of paper. "Why, Mr.
Farrar, if an old friend, so to speak, can put the question, why in
the world--"

"The most natural thing," replied Mr. Farrar with a cold laugh; "I am
old, as I told you, and the younger men get all the work. That is all.
Nobody wants a genealogist and antiquary."

"Dear me, dear me! Why, Mr. Farrar, I remember now; you used to know
my poor son-in-law, who is dead eighteen years since. I was just
reading the last letter he ever wrote to me, just before he died. You
used to come here and sit with him in the evening. I remember now. So
you did."

"Thank you for your good will," said Mr. Farrar. "Yes, I remember your
son-in-law. I knew him before his marriage."

"Did you? Before his marriage? Then--" He was going to add, "Then you