"I never smoke, sir," said Samuel reprovingly, "Well, you miss a lot
of comfort in life. I've seen a good many troubles go up in smoke."

Mr. Wright sat down heavily and sighed.

"Sam been giving you something to think about?" Dr. Lavendar asked
cheerfully.

"He always gives me something to think about. He is beyond my
comprehension! I may say candidly, that I cannot understand him. What
do you think he has done now?"

"Nothing wicked."

"I don't know how you look at it," Samuel said, "but from my point of
view, buying prints with other people's money is dangerously near
wickedness. This present matter, however, is just imbecility. I told
him one day last week to write to a man in Troy, New York, about a
bill of exchange. Well, he wrote. Oh, yes--he wrote. Back comes a
letter from the man, enclosing my young gentleman's epistle, with a
line added "--Mr. Wright fumbled in his breast pocket to find the
document--" here it is: _'Above remarks about ships not understood
by our House.'_ Will you look at that, sir, for the 'remarks about
ships'?"

Dr. Lavendar took the sheet stamped "Bank of Pennsylvania," and hunted
for his spectacles. When he settled them on his nose he turned the
letter over and read in young Sam's sprawling hand:

"Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, And burnt the