was Uncle Sanders.

If the old man had one touch of human
nature in him it was a solicitude
for Mildred's future--an authority arrogated
to himself--to see that she married
the right man; but even that was
directed to her material gain in this
world's goods, and not to any sentimental
consideration for her happiness.
He flattered himself that by timely
suggestion he had ``stumped'' at least half
a dozen would-be candidates for Mildred's
hand. He pooh-poohed love as a
necessity for marital felicity, and would
enforce his argument by quoting from
the bard:

``All lovers swear more performance
than they are able, and yet reserve an
ability that they never perform; vowing
more than the perfection of ten, and
discharging less than the tenth part of one.''

``You can get at a man's income,''
he would say, ``but not at his heart.
Love without money won't travel as far
as money without love,'' and many
married people whose bills were overdue
wondered if the old fellow was