"I had been expecting my poor father's death for some time," said
Philip gravely.

"Just so! He wa'n't very rugged. We've all got to come to it sooner
or later. I expect dad'll die of apoplexy some time-he's so awful
fat," remarked Nicholas cheerfully. "If he does, it's lucky he's got
me to run the business. I'm only eighteen, but I can get along as
well as anybody. I'm kinder smart in business."

"I am glad you are smart in anything," thought Philip; for he knew
that Nick was a hopeless dunce in school duties.

"I hope your father'll live a good while," he said politely.

"Yes, of course," said Nick lightly. "I'd be sorry to have the old
man pop off; but then you never can tell about such a thing as
that."

Philip did not relish the light way in which Nick referred to such a
loss as he was suffering from, and, by way of changing the subject,
said:

"I believe you said you came on business, Nicholas?"

"Yes; that's what I wanted to come at. It's about your fiddle."

"My violin!" said Philip, rather surprised.

"Oh, well, fiddle or violin! what's the odds? I want to buy it."