newspapers.

"Will you never have finished that letter?" he said, rather
irritably.

Charles was silent a second or two, then he sprang up so that his
chair fell over: "Perhaps Alphonse imagined that he could do it
better? Did he not know which of them was really the man of
business?" And now the words streamed out with that incredible
rapidity of which the French language is capable when it is used
in fiery passion.

But it was a turbid stream, carrying with it many ugly
expressions, upbraidings, and recriminations; and through the
whole there sounded something like a suppressed sob.

As he strode up and down the room, with clenched hands and
dishevelled hair, Charles looked like a little wiry-haired terrier
barking at an elegant Italian grayhound. At last he seized his hat
and rushed out.

Alphonse had stood looking at him with great wondering eyes. When
he was gone, and there was once more silence in the room, it
seemed as though the air was still quivering with the hot words.
Alphonse recalled them one by one, as he stood motionless beside
the desk.

"Did he not know which was the abler of the two?" Yes, assuredly!
he had never denied that Charles was by far his superior.